


12 days of Christmas LoVe

by galaxyofstarks



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas Shopping, Christmas Tree, F/M, Just all of it is Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyofstarks/pseuds/galaxyofstarks
Summary: 12 days, 12 small stories about Logan and Veronica during the holidays.
Relationships: Logan Echolls & Veronica Mars, Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 164
Kudos: 142
Collections: Lovecember Holiday Edition





	1. Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of anxious about starting this but here we go.  
> I've created this collection of 12 Christmas stories centered around LoVe. Some fit in canon, some kind of respect canon, and some are completely new AUs.  
> I'm not sure what my posting schedule will look like, but the plan is to post all 12 stories before Christmas arrives. Most of them are written already. I hope they'll be enjoyable!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Logan and Veronica's first Christmas as a couple, and Veronica is determined to make it memorable.
> 
> Set post-movie.

Veronica opened the cardboard box she’d carefully placed on the counter when she’d gotten home from the grocery store and excitedly took out the contents, placing the items one by one beside the box under Logan’s watchful eye.

“A gingerbread house making kit?” he asked.

“Ta-dah!”

He didn’t show any emotion besides maybe hesitation.

“You don’t like it,” Veronica said.

“No, no, it’s great! I, uh, I’ve never tried making my own gingerbread house from a kit.”

“They don’t taste the best, but they’re fun! Come on, we can decorate them tonight.”

“Them?”

“Well, yeah. One for you, one for me. I’m not letting your inexperience ruin my gingerbread house. Also, the competitive aspect of it makes it more fun.”

Logan laughed out loud and twirled her around the counter so she’d be standing between his legs, then kissed her gently on the lips.

“That sounds like my Veronica.”

She beamed and kissed him back. _My Veronica_. She could get used to hearing that… but to be the only one hearing it, of course. If it got out that she was letting anyone claim any kind of ownership over her, she’d lose _all_ credibility and she had a reputation to uphold to keep Mars Investigations afloat.

It was their first Christmas since they’d moved in together, and effectively their first as a couple. Through all their moments of being on and off in high school and college, they’d never managed to be on during the holidays, and it was something Veronica wanted to make up for. He’d seen her in full-on Christmas enthusiast mode before, but it was a long, long time ago, before Lilly died, when they were friends. This year, Veronica was on a mission to create a memorable holiday season for Logan, her very own Christmas cheer skeptic.

“Before Christmas day rolls around, you’ll be converted,” she’d assured him after Thanksgiving, when she had come home with Christmas decorations from her Black Friday shopping. She’d left all her decorations in New York, and anyway she didn’t want the decorations she’d put up with Piz the previous year to hang in the place she shared with Logan. She’d respected his wish to keep the decorations to a minimum until two weeks before Christmas, and he’d woken up on December 11th to tinsel and tiny snowmen all around him. It had amused him, and even more so when she’d thrust him a Santa Claus mug for his morning coffee, sipping from her own light blue one covered in snowflake patterns.

That had been the previous day. Now, she’d come home with plans for the evening, plans she felt were being thwarted by Logan’s kisses along her jaw and face nuzzling her neck. But seeing as he was still recently enough back from deployment, Veronica didn’t move out of the way, leaning into him instead, enjoying every bit of contact with her boyfriend.

“Are you going to try to beat me?” she asked him, and it felt for an instant that they really were those 14-year-old kids again, teasing and shoving. Competing for fun, not to hurt each other or prove something like they’d done in their later teens.

He scoffed. “I _will_ beat you.”

“Oh, you are _on_.”

It turned out that along with foreign languages, discipline, and a home ec teacher’s dream, the Navy had also taught Logan patience and precision, two skills that came in handy when handling the piping bags to decorate the panes of his gingerbread house.

“You should have put the pieces together before icing them. Rookie mistake,” Veronica commented when he was already done icing three of his pieces. She’d give him advice, but not help him win.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re killing your neck and your wrists trying to pipe all those patterns on upright walls. _My_ drawings will be even and precise.”

“You’ll ruin your drawings when your put your fingers into them when putting the house together.”

“I most certainly will not.”

He did. The left wall fell over as he tried to hold it up, iced face first, effectively transferring most of the piping on the counter and smudging what was left on the cookie. Then he broke his roof when placing it, and Veronica couldn’t stop laughing. Her house had slightly crooked patterns towards the bottom, that she’d masked with strategically placed candy.

“It’s an art that’s not given to everyone,” she told Logan as he sulked and she stroked his hair, kissing his cheek, but she was still grinning smugly. “On the plus side, we can eat your house now. Or at least the roof.”

Then they realized that Veronica had overbaked the cookie pieces and they were way too hard to eat safely. It was Veronica’s turn to sulk. She’d looked forward to eating those extra gingerbread pieces with the leftover icing still stuck in the piping bags.

Logan wrapped his arms around her from behind, discarded the piece of cookie she was stubbornly trying to eat despite its toughness, and kissed her temple. “We’ll still get to enjoy the sight of your house for the holidays.”

“You said it had uneven piping.”

“Trash talk. Veronica, are you seriously mad over a gingerbread house?”

“No,” she lied, but leaned further into his broad chest, bringing her forehead to his neck.

“You would have won anyway.”

“I know.”

“It was a nice activity. I had a great evening,” he said into her hair, and she smiled.

“How can you have you never watched Home Alone? It’s a classic! Everyone’s seen Home Alone!”

“Obviously, not everyone,” Logan replied over breakfast. “What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s just a movie.”

“Just a movie? Stupid movies put food on your table your whole childhood,” Veronica pointed out with a jab of her spoon in his direction.

He pursed his lips and looked down at his plate. Veronica put her hand on his.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I – I shouldn’t have brought it up at all.”

“We can watch Home Alone.”

“Logan…”

“It’s fine, Veronica.” He looked up and smiled at her tenderly. “Really.”

“Okay. Hey, wait a minute…” She narrowed her eyes at him and he lifted a questioning eyebrow. “We’ve had this conversation before.” He just kept looking at her questioningly. “We did! Oh my god. The last Christmas before… before. Christmas 2002. You promised you’d watch it.”

“Looks like I lied.”

She snorted. “You and Lilly found a lot of ways to keep yourselves busy that year. Loudly.” Veronica shuddered and Logan laughed.

“So, let’s watch Home Alone. Unless you prefer the alternative that I’d apparently chosen back then?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Ugh, not now that I have the mental picture of you and Lilly.” She paused, lost in her thoughts. “What do you think she’d think of this?”

“Watching Home Alone?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. She’d be happy for us, I think. After being a bitch about it at first, though. But that would’ve been back in high school, the first time we dated.”

Veronica had a small wistful laugh. “Yeah. She’d be pissed at me for not talking to you for nine years, though. I can _hear_ her.”

They were both silent for a few minutes, the laughter of a long gone teenage girl they’d both loved ringing in their ears, distorted by time and the rose coloured glass granted to those gone too soon, too violently.

They watched the movie in silence that night, their chuckles forced and the movie somehow painful even if neither of them had ever watched it with the girl they remembered. Veronica spent the movie with her head on Logan’s lap, curled up under a blanket, while he played absently with her hair.

They turned it off as soon as the credits started rolling.

“Let’s not make that one a yearly tradition,” Logan said softly, and Veronica nodded wordlessly. She couldn’t think of a quick reply to alleviate the tension, so she didn’t send any his way.

They went straight to bed after that, arms wrapped around each other through the night, the warmth reminding them they weren’t alone.

A few days later, Veronica brought up the idea of skating.

“You do know we live in California and there is no frozen lake in the middle of the forest just waiting to become the scene of a romantic Christmastime figure skating show?” Logan asked her.

She rolled her eyes. “Do you own skates?”

“Should I reiterate that we live in California?”

He picked up a candy that had fallen from the gingerbread house sitting on the coffee table and popped it in his mouth, then grimaced at the taste.

“We can rent some. We can drive up to an arena in LA,” Veronica insisted. “I went with my parents several times growing up. The skates don’t fit anymore, but it’s like biking, right? It’s got to still be in me.”

Logan grinned at her enthusiasm. “I haven’t been skating in forever.”

Something they’d both learn quickly enough was that skating was not like biking at all. In fact, Logan was half convinced the two of them were worse than some of the toddlers they saw, clearly there for the first time, as evidenced by their parents holding their hands and their repeated contacts with the ice.

Veronica clutched Logan’s arm as her right foot went flying out of control, and dragged him down with her instead, falling and sliding away in a mixture of limbs and a shriek of “careful-my-blade-is-close-to-your-hand!” and a loud thump as their tangled forms hit the side of the rink.

Veronica spat out hair, brushing it away with the snowy mittens as Logan groaned under her.

“Sorry…” she ungracefully apologized, trying to extract her arm from underneath his back. But he didn’t cooperate, wasn’t even moving. “Logan, a little help, here?”

She twisted her neck at an uncomfortable angle to get a look at his face. His eyes were closed and her thoughts short-circuited.

“Logan! Logan, are you okay?” she asked, panting, wiggling her arm under him, both to pull it away and to try to rouse him into doing something.

“Peachy.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“I think I sprained something,” he commented, like he was talking about the weather.

Right. She had somehow forgotten that Logan Echolls did not admit to having bad injuries, even when he was bleeding out on her front porch. Then he just “could have been better.” Idiot.

“Can you move?”

“Mhm, yeah. Probably.”

He waited a second longer before opening his eyes and lifting his back up to help Veronica regain access to her now numb arm, and together they unraveled the knot they’d created. Afterwards, they stayed on the ice.

“It feels dangerous to try to stand up, now,” Veronica giggled, and Logan was shaken by silent laughter.

He kept laughing, punctuating it sometimes with hisses of pain, as Veronica tried to sit up, then stand on her numbed legs and wobbly skates.

“Stop laughing, you’ll make me fall again,” she chastised, but she couldn’t help laughing too, and Logan squirmed on the ice, having trouble breathing through his hilarity. “Get up,” she insisted, extending a hand down to him.

He reached for it and she nearly toppled over trying to support his weight on her with her poor balance. “I can’t, it hurts,” Logan breathed out in between continued bits of laughter.

“You’ll hurt yourself more if you keep laughing like that! And you’ll get cold!”

He nudged her foot with his own and she fell back down, on her ass, beside him, which only made him laugh harder.

“At least _I_ can sit up,” she pointed out, trying not to worry too much about how the hell she’d get him off the ice.

“Mhm-hm,” Logan simply said, his laughter finally receding, and pulling her closer to him by the pocket of her pants.

She leaned down to kiss him softly and he brought his hands up to the back of her neck.

“Oh, so for _that_ you can move?”

Logan snickered.

“Get up.”

“Get down,” he challenged.

“We’re traumatising kids.”

“I’m sure they’ve seen couples kissing before.”

“It doesn’t _look_ like kissing from a distance.”

“So they’ll become P.I.s and make those sights their bread and butter,” Logan managed to shrug, kissing her nose.

“That is _not_ the entirety of my job.”

“Oh, I know, there is also the part where you put yourself in unnecessary danger,” he continued, tracing down her arm with the tip of a finger.

“And the part where I clear you of _murder_ ,” she replied.

“The part where you’re disproportionately suspicious.”

“The part where I save your ass again and again.”

“The part where you confront murderers alone.”

“The part where I look for your mom.”

“The part where – okay, fine. Hypocrisy. I got it.”

“Good. You better,” she declared, sitting up properly again.

“Hey, Veronica…”

“Hm?” If she crossed her arms, she would have been the perfect picture of a pouting child.

“I love your job. You’re the best at it.”

She smiled reluctantly, starting slow. “I kinda wish I could see you at _your_ job.”

“I’m also the best at it.”

She laughed.

“Help me up?” he asked.

It took them three tries to get up and a lot of shuffling to get to the exit, and they both agreed skating was probably not their best bet for future dates.

The sun had already set on the shortest day of the year, and Logan and Veronica were walking through the Christmas market she’d spent days trying to find. She’d surfed the web for long hours, reading reviews to select the perfect time and perfect market in San Diego.

Logan pulled Veronica closer to his side, kissing the top of her head. “It’s beautiful, bobcat. You chose well.”

She smiled and snaked her arm around his waist, rested her head on his shoulder and asked him, “So you’re not mad I made you skip out on that thing with your squad mates?”

“No. I was with them for 6 months in confined space up until last month.”

“You live in confined space with me.”

“I don’t get paid to live in confined space with you. That’s a choice.”

She reached up to kiss him, smiling against his lips.

“Besides,” he continued, “if anyone is a workaholic in this relationship, it’s you.”

She made an offended sound, pulling away to look at him. “Invested into my cases, at most.”

“Obsessed.”

“Passionate.”

“Oblivious to the rest of the world.”

“Focused.”

“Adorable,” he finished with a kiss on her nose and a smirk.

She hmphed but rested her head back on his shoulder, resuming their leisurely pace through the bright fairy lights and fake snow, between rows of small stalls and sidestepping other merry pedestrians. They didn’t have any precise goal in coming there, just soaking up the Christmas magic Veronica had been trying so hard to spark into their daily lives.

She bought them hot chocolate and he bought a homemade ornament with the inscription “our first Christmas” from an old lady whose granddaughter did the translating between German and English for them to communicate, then he blew the golden specks of glitter of the wrapping into Veronica’s face, who laughed, and the glitter stuck to her skin. Neither of them made a move to wipe it away. A less than thrilled teenager, probably there to help his parents, gave them bells to shake in rhythm with the children’s choir belting out holiday classics. Throughout the performance, they stayed tucked into each other and in a far corner of the area laid out for the public, swaying back and forth, looking at each other rather than at the choir. Veronica kissed Logan’s chin and he closed his eyes. He didn’t remember which one of them bought the Santa hat with holly on the brim Veronica had been sporting for the past half hour. They had another round of hot chocolate because Veronica wanted something sweet again after they ate tacos at the food truck a short ways from where the choir had been singing and the line was too long for the sugar cookie stand they both wanted to try.

Logan didn’t see time pass, stretching out between him and Veronica, as lazy as the kisses they placed on each other’s lips, inadvertently sharing the foam of their hot chocolates, as content as his heart whenever Veronica’s eyes lit up at her newest discovery. It could have been 8PM or it could have been 1AM, all he knew was that his hand was in Veronica’s, playfully swinging back and forth, and his fingers were warm and he could stay there in that magical space where time seemed frozen, a haven blocked out for a few nights in between roads of high traffic, for years.

“You’re silent tonight,” Veronica remarked, pulling him from his reverie.

“It’s a Christmas miracle; he can actually shut up after all.”

She laughed, crystalline and without fear, and it made him smile wide to see it. She wasn’t weighed down by god knows what was going wrong in their life this time, she wasn’t mind elsewhere while her body held her place here. It had taken them a long, perilous time, but they’d done it. They’d reached a place where they could just be… normal. Do what couples did. Finally.

He twirled her around when they reached the sidewalk and pulled her to his chest, his hands on her hips, under a red awning. She still had that glitter on her face, but her eyes were shining brighter than any of the specks. Happy, carefree. A part of him saw warning lights go off, blaring in his head. _This is the calm before the storm_ , he couldn’t help thinking. They were still Logan and Veronica, and Logan and Veronica weren’t allowed to be this happy for long, something would be coming their way soon, and he had to take a deep, calming breath, to try to push the thoughts away. His therapist had worked with him on that. Happiness didn’t always have to come at a price. What was good didn’t always end. What happened to him, to them, wasn’t retribution for daring to find happiness in the previous tragedy. And it was over. His father wasn’t there. He kept out of trouble. The sheriff’s department had hopefully learnt its lesson about accusing him without proof. It wasn’t his fault if people around him, people he loved, died. He didn’t have to earn these stolen moments of bliss with Veronica. It wasn’t a glimpse or a window to what he would miss when it all careened out of control, it was his life, it was real, and he was allowed to hold on to it.

He leaned down to kiss Veronica’s cheek and she was looking at him curiously.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.

“That you look relaxed.”

“Okay.”

“And that’s good. I haven’t seen you relaxed in a long time.”

“You make me relax,” he said simply.

“Is that a good thing? Because it makes me sound boring.”

He laughed disbelievingly and rolled his eyes. “It’s a good thing. You make me happy.”

“You make me happy, too.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and they stayed there a few moments.

“Ready to go home?”

It was still strange to hear Veronica say that, talk about their shared home. She’d always been home, in a way, more than a lot of places in which he’d lived over the years, but to know that it really was an accurate, physical place that was _theirs_ still made him feel all gooey and mellow. High school Veronica would have laughed at him. High school Logan would have laughed at him, even.

He nodded. She brought her hand up to his forehead. “You’ve got glitter on your face,” she explained, wiping at it.

“So do you.”

“It’s a great look on me.”

“Are you saying I don’t look good with glitter?”

“You’re free to keep it.”

“Thank you. Wow, Veronica, you really were trying to push toxic masculinity on me.”

His lips curved upward as he said it and she laughed. He took her hand back in his and they slowly walked towards where they’d parked the car – his car, but she’d used it during his whole deployment and the glove compartment was full of her things, so in his eyes it was kind of their car at this point, but she would never admit to being the honorary co-owner of a BMW, by principle – and the crowd got scarcer, the festive lights more spaced out as they walked, the magic fading with the music.

“You got a parking ticket,” Veronica noticed when they reached the car, grabbing the ticket from the windshield and passing it to him after a short examination.

Logan snorted. She’d driven all the way. “You got a parking ticket,” he corrected. “You parked.”

“It’s your car, it’s going to come to the apartment addressed to you.”

“Still your address.”

“Still your bank account.”

“Can we say it’s _our_ ticket?” Logan amended.

“You’re weird.”

“Yes. I want to share _everything_ with you, my love,” he said emphatically, dropping a kiss on her cheek as he circled to the driver’s side, winking at her and she rolled her eyes, still smiling from the kiss.

“I’m curious,” Logan remarked from his seat at the kitchen counter. “You insist on having the whole apartment decorated as soon as possible, but you save the tree for a few days before Christmas. Why?”

“For the Christmas market ornaments! If I do the tree before, I either have to save the new ornaments for an entire year or mess up the tree.”

“And we can’t have that.”

She glared at him, warning clear in her eyes. No making fun of her Christmas habits. Of course, it made him want to push it even further.

“Well, what mood music is appropriate for Christmas tree decorating, then?”

“I’m glad you asked.”

“Oh no, what did I get myself into,” he said laconically.

“Nothing! I have a playlist, that’s all,” she muttered, and he rubbed her back.

“Hey, I’m kidding. Put all the Christmas playlists you like. Christmas is soon enough that it won’t drive me crazy.” He looked down at the phone vibrating in his hand. “Ugh, it’s now. Think you’ll be fine without me for ten minutes?”

“Given that you’re just sitting there, yeah.”

“Hey, I’m giving moral support. That’s crucial.”

She slapped his thigh, pushing him down the hall. “Go, answer your call.”

He smirked and did as he was told. He had managed to negotiate a video-call check in instead of going down to base for his report before the week he’d taken off for Christmas and New Year’s with Veronica.

When he made his way back to the living room area fifteen minutes later, Veronica was swaying back and forth to the music, tilting her head in different directions to choose where to put the ornament she was holding. He watched her for a few minutes, engrossed in her task, selecting ornaments carefully and dancing around the tree in light, generic movements he wasn’t even sure she noticed she was doing. At that moment, the thought occurred to him that he wanted this. More of this, forever. He wanted to know that next year, he’d still get to watch Veronica decorate their Christmas tree with love and care, that he’d get to see the multicoloured lights of the neighbour’s garlands reflected in her eyes when he kissed her on their doorstep, that he’d get to find the one spot in the apartment she might not discover before Christmas morning to hide her present. It wasn’t a totally new concept. He’d known when he was seventeen that he wanted it to last, that he wanted Veronica in his life forever, but then forever had been a foreign concept, a pipe dream. It had been delusions and hormones and too many feelings. Now, standing in their home, looking at their tree, he knew what forever with Veronica could mean. And with the semi-stability of his mind, he no longer thought the only way it would happen was because of the inevitability of how broken they both were. He knew they weren’t inevitable, that they had to work and put in the effort, but he also knew that he _wanted_ to put the effort. And that there was more between them than their broken past, shared trauma and the inability to let go.

She seemed to notice him then, she stopped her dancing and smiled at him, splitting him open and feeding him that Christmas magic she was talking about, the only kind of magic she still believed in, filling him up. He didn’t remember being this happy before, not that way, not with that serenity and the absence of a looming presence that could come in the room and suck out all the laughter his mother had managed to inject in the air.

“You okay over there?” she asked with a smile, and he didn’t understand why she was smiling this big until she reached him, placed her hands on his lapel and pointed upwards. “I really wonder how _that_ got there,” she said, tapping a finger to her lips innocently.

He laughed, taking in the mistletoe she’d hung while he was taking his call. “What a mystery. Thank god we’ve got the best P.I. in the house to investigate.”

“Hey, she took time off for Christmas, give her a break.”

“P.I. or no P.I., I don’t think we have a choice.”

Veronica sighed dramatically. “Guess not.”

He smirked and pressed his lips to hers slowly.

“I’m sorry it all went wrong.”

“What went wrong?” Logan asked, confused.

“The gingerbread houses. Skating. Home Alone. Even the Christmas market, I got you a ticket.”

“Are you kidding? That was the best Christmas I’ve ever had. And it’s not even Christmas yet.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I had the best time. And I was with you.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“You organized an entire Christmas season.”

“Hm, I guess,” she shrugged.

He kept looking down at her, and she nudged his nose with hers to coax the words he was holding back out of him.

“I love you,” he said seriously.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry, are you asking me _why_ I love you?”

“No! More like, what did you find there in that head of yours all of sudden that made you decide to say it now?”

“I was just looking at you, decorating the tree. Our tree. And all I could think about was that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling, and pecked her lips. “Did you put the ornament we got at the Christmas market in yet?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“I’m not a Christmas tree decoration expert.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“We’re still under the mistletoe.”

“And?”

“Well, I don’t want to move away from under it,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She slung her arms around his shoulders and kissed him, long and deep.

“Will that keep you satisfied for long enough?”

“We can only hope.”

He picked up the ornament and unwrapped it, then walked over to the tree and selected a branch. “This okay?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Veronica.

“That’s where I was going to put it.”

“Oh, then _no_.”

She swatted his arm and he laughed, then hung it.

They took a step back and Veronica buried herself into his embrace. Logan swayed back and forth along the cheerful music, pressing light kisses on her forehead to punctuate the words she hummed into his shirt.

“Merry Christmas, Veronica,” he whispered into her hair during the short lull between two songs.

“Merry Christmas, Logan.”


	2. Lax, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica has spent the past few months feeding a small lie to her family, but now that it's time to fly home for Christmas, she has to find a last minute way to fix it before facing her dad.
> 
> AU, uses some elements of canon.

Veronica was annoyed.

Flying from New York to Neptune for the holidays was already bad enough on its own, and she had been dreading having to go back. But now the plane was stuck on the ground and the snow showed no sign of wanting to stop falling. They didn’t know how long it would be, yadda, yadda, yadda. All in all, it meant that Veronica, along with dozens of other passengers, was likely going to be spending the night in an airport terminal.

Going back to Neptune itself wasn’t the worst. She was excited to see her dad again, and she actually liked her stepmother. And there was her new stepbrother, Wallace, who she adored. They’d gone to high school together and been close friends, and it really was a joy to be able to call him her family. But she’d gotten used to being in New York, anonymous and busy. Neptune was full of snotty families, dramatically annoying girls who still hadn’t gotten the memo that being popular in high school didn’t make you better than the others, and obscenely rich software moguls who practically owned the town. And then there was said software mogul’s son, to whom Veronica had once been engaged, and it was all just awkward.

There was also the problem of that one tiny lie she’d fed her family on the West Coast. At first, she hadn’t really thought much of it, deciding she’d take care of it later, except now it was later and she hadn’t taken care of it.

It had just slipped out. It wasn’t a lie she had meant to tell, it was just a tiny little detail, and then it had turned out to be pretty useful, so she’d kept up the appearances. Except now her completely made-up boyfriend of 8 months was supposed to be meeting her father and stepmother, flying with her across the country, and she still hadn’t found a way to skirt around that.

Several times, she had considered telling her dad that she’d broken up with her unnamed boyfriend, but he was just so damn useful. He was a built-in excuse, and he kept her off the market. She didn’t know why everyone back in Neptune assumed she’d want to date a local – she had been living in New York for 3 years, after all. But they did, and several of them pitched her candidates. Then, poof, she had a New York City boyfriend and they left her alone.

There was also the fact that Wallace was married to a truly lovely woman named Shae and had an adorable son, Noah. On paper: ideal, successful. The opposite of Veronica. Veronica was perfectly content with her life as it was, really. But others – naysayers, she said – didn’t think her career could be that fulfilling. They subtly and sometimes not-so-subtly poked at her, asking questions, making allusions to settling down, starting a family. So if she had a boyfriend in New York, she was safe. She was settling down for them, shutting them up and not actually changing anything in a lifestyle she appreciated. Sure, she sometimes got lonely, but then she’d meet up with some of her friends from law school for drinks and be reinvigorated.

She had the positive aspects of having a boyfriend (cover, built-in excuse, parental satisfaction) without the downsides (having to remember important dates, actually entertaining him – she had better things to do). It was an absolutely perfect and flawless plan. Or at least, it had been until she had agreed to come back home for the holidays without thinking. She’d thought of baby Noah, who she hadn’t met yet, and seeing her father again. She had not thought about the fact that everyone would want to meet her boyfriend. And then she had agreed, like a total idiot, to bring him home with her. She’d figured she’d manage to find him a last minute engagement, that he was too busy at work or something. But then _she_ had been too busy at work, hadn’t given any of it any more thought until the day before she was scheduled to fly out and her father had brought up her boyfriend on the phone and she’d completely blanked on what kind of excuse she could feed him.

So there she was, on December 23rd, looking bitterly at the snow that just didn’t want to freaking stop, hoping she could take her plane one day.

“You sure seem mad at the snow.”

She whipped around to see who had talked to her. A man in his late twenties, wearing a relaxed red sweater, was sitting on his suitcase, but he somehow made it look glamorous, hands in his pockets, like he was leaning against the hood of an expensive car. He wore a small smile, closer to a smirk, and her insides squirmed, just a tiny bit.

“Aren’t we all?” she replied. “It’s keeping all of us in here.”

“I’m not,” the man answered. “This is better than any excuse I could make up to reduce the time I have to spend at my folks’ for the holidays.”

Veronica laughed. “I guess there is that silver lining.”

“You flying home to your parents too?” he asked as she settled beside him on her own suitcase.

She nodded. “My dad got married in the spring, and he just moved in with his wife. It’s our first family Christmas since the family got this way, so…”

“You don’t like her?”

“Alicia? No, she’s great.” The man raised a dubitative eyebrow, and she laughed again. “No, seriously. Her son was my best friend in high school. She was already kind of like family.”

“That’s actually pretty sweet. So why don’t you want to go back?”

“What tells you I don’t want to go back? I _was_ having an aggressive face-off with the snow just now.”

It was his turn to chuckle. “You said it was a silver lining to spend less time with them,” he reminded her.

“Right. That. It’s a bit complicated. Let’s just say I’ve been selling them a small lie for months and now it’ll get exposed and I’ll lose a brilliant excuse for just about everything.”

“Colour me intrigued.”

“No, your turn. I’m not gonna spill my entire life story to a stranger whose name I don’t even know.”

“Logan,” the man said, extending his hand.

“Veronica,” she replied, shaking it. “So, Logan, what’s so dreadful about the holidays at your parents’?”

“My parents.”

Veronica laughed.

“Really! My mother always gets drunk off her ass, and my dad is just an asshole all year long. And my sister always brings home the biggest idiot you can think of. A new one every year. And it’s so stuffy, like we’re all going to die if we serve the peas before the mashed potatoes, as if they don’t go in the same damn plate we eat from. And that’s just dinner _before_ the party.”

“Your mom sounds like my mom.”

“You’re seeing her during the holidays, too?”

“No, thank god. I haven’t talked to her in a decade or so.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She shrugged. “Wallace – that’s my stepbrother – is much better to have as family, so.”

Logan nodded, like he understood.

“So, what else?” Veronica prodded. “That sounds like regular family Christmas horror stories. What’s _actually_ unbearable?”

“Going straight for the jugular, huh?” When she smiled apologetically, he answered her. “I’ll get introduced to about a zillion people at my parents’ ridiculous Christmas party, half of which will be half senile and maintain the last time they saw me I was this big.” He held out his hands about a foot apart with sarcastic enthusiasm. “And then there will be all the regulars, who I don’t want to see, but I’ll have to schmooze with them anyway. Including my ex, who is… Well, she’s nice, really. But there are only so many ways one can tell his ex every damn year that no, he does not feel like stealing a taste of the old times in his parents’ closet.”

Veronica snorted. “Okay, there, you have it worst. You happy to win that title?”

“Very much. Thank you, I’m touched,” he replied with a smirk, bringing his hand to his heart.

“Hey, you know what the _perfect_ excuse is for you?”

“I’m listening.”

“Please keep in mind it might spectacularly backfire the next time you set foot in your hometown.”

“Shoot anyway. I’m desperate.”

“You can say you have a girlfriend back in New York – here – and therefore you cannot tango with your ex. You are a man of honor and _so enamoured_ with the mysterious woman waiting for you across the country.”

“I’ve thought about that. I was going to show up with an actual date, but believe it or not, it’s hard to secure a date for December 25th from across the country. Go figure. I hadn’t thought about making up a relationship with someone that doesn’t even exist, though. It’s not bad. What’s the part that backfires?”

“It backfires when you for some unfathomable reason tell your family they’ll get to meet her when you both fly home for Christmas.”

His face broke in a gigantic grin. “ _That_ ’s the lie you told your dad?”

She nodded sheepishly. “It was super useful, too, for several months.”

“But then it backfired.”

“Yeah.”

After a few seconds of silence, Logan spoke up again. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m figuring it out.”

“Isn’t it a bit late to figure it out? I mean, you’re flying away _now_.”

She snorted. “Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.”

They fell back into silence again, occasionally shooting looks outside to see that the snow was indeed still falling in heavy flakes.

“You said your party was on Christmas day, right?” Veronica asked carefully.

“Yeah. The 25th in the evening.”

“My dinner is on Christmas Eve.”

He turned slowly to her. “Are you saying…”

“No! … Yes? You can’t say it’s a _bad_ idea.”

“It’s a horrible idea.”

“Fine, forget it.”

“No, hold on… it’s a _horrible_ idea, it really is. So many ways it could go wrong. I love it. Let’s do it.”

“You barely know me.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it? Because you can’t just plant a seed like that and then dump me.”

“Dump you?”

“Am I playing the part of the imaginary boyfriend you’ve been dating for months or not?”

She hesitated a second. “Yes,” she finally said. “This is such a bad idea.”

“It really is,” Logan nodded. “What’s your family name, and how do I address your dad?”

“What a dumb plan. My name’s Mars. You can call him Mr. Mars at first, and he’ll tell you to call him Keith. Call him Mr. Mars anyway. What’s yours?”

“There are so many ways this could go wrong… Uh, Echolls. You can ignore both my parents and my sister’s called Trina. She’ll forget your name after two drinks and ask it again and again. Feel free to give her a different one every time.”

“We’re gonna screw this up for sure. Where are you staying?”

“A hotel in LA. You?”

“A hotel in Neptune.”

Her father and Alicia had a spare bedroom, but she’d let Wallace have it, since it would be harder to travel with a baby, so he might as well be at his mom’s for his stay. Just now, it was a good thing, because Logan wouldn’t have to stay in her father’s place more than the duration of the dinner.

“You’re from _Neptune_?”

“Does that break our deal?”

“Neptune is a hellhole.”

“It is. So?”

“Nah. We’re good. God, this will make Carrie _furious_.”

“And that’s…?”

“Very good.”

“Great. We need some ground rules,” Veronica said.

“Like maybe you should tell me how long we’ve been dating?”

“That, too, but I meant, for example, you are absolutely not allowed to kiss me.”

“At all? Can I at least touch you?”

“Kisses on the cheek are okay. You can hold my hand. And a hand on my back is fine.”

“Deal. But you have to take my arm during the party.”

“Fine.”

“Are we really doing this?” Logan asked, looking as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

His smile was contagious, and Veronica found herself smiling as wide as him. There were so many ways this could be an awful idea, and for all she knew, Logan was a serial killer.

“Let’s do it.”

A few hours later, an announcement was made on the PA system, letting them know that the flight to LAX would be embarking soon. Veronica fished her phone out of her purse and dialed her father’s number.

“Dad? They’re finally letting us get on the plane. We’ll probably leave within the hour.”

“So you’ll be there in time for dinner?” his voice asked hopefully from the other side.

“Yep. Logan and I should be there by 6, like you said.”

“Ah, so the mysterious boyfriend _does_ have a name.”

Veronica caught Logan’s eye and smiled. “He does,” she said resolutely.

“Well, I look forward to meeting him. See you soon, honey.”

“Bye, dad.”

She walked back to where Logan was standing, near both their suitcases. “Did you send me the document?”

“Yep, and I received yours. We should have plenty of time during the flight to learn everything there is to know about each other, even from rows away. Have a safe flight, _darling_ ,” he finished, dropping a kiss to her cheek and walking away with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the title of this story probably indicated, there will be a part 2 to this story later in the month!


	3. Rattled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica is having trouble Christmas shopping for Logan.
> 
> Set after season 4, except Logan didn't die because I'm pretending that never happened.

See, the thing with holiday shopping is that it’s _hard_. It’s like struggling, scrambling to find the absolute best birthday present for that person you love, that’ll tell them you love them, that’ll make them feel special, that’ll make them smile, that’ll make them think of you while also not being totally useless. Except it’s for all the people you love simultaneously, and there’s millions of people in the store at the same time as you, and they all have the same need. And the more you think, the more everything becomes a crappy idea, a sappy idea, or just an idea that – cha-ching – has been bought by someone else while you made up your mind.

Veronica hates it. She didn’t used to hate it. She used to be a great gift-giver, she always had the most heartfelt, personal gifts of her group of friends, back when they were 4, inseparable, and thought the world was fair. Or at least, she did, and her idealism and optimism were somewhat of a fuel for her gift-giving ability. She always cooked up that little thoughtful idea that would remind Lilly of their years together and their years to come, that would make her best friend hug her tight. And it was easy to shop for Lilly, almost anything would please her. She was the easiest person Veronica ever shopped for, and it would just figure that she’d be the one to die at 16.

Wallace is not too hard to shop for. If she finds some basketball memorabilia, she can usually get away with it, and has for years, since she committed his favourite players to memory and started keeping a list of everything basketball-related he owns. (She’s had to ask Shae for her help keeping the list up to date in the last years because she isn’t always there herself when he receives gifts, anymore.) She’s not sure she can beat last year’s gift, that managed to combine basketball _and_ physics, but she’s pretty sure she can find something decent.

Her father’s not a tough man to shop for, either, usually. She got away with giving him ugly assorted school projects and drawings for years, so his standards aren’t usually too high. As long as it comes from the heart, and all of that sentimental crap parents repeat all the time. It plays in her favour so she doesn’t complain.

The hardest to shop for is undoubtedly Logan. She’s been living with him for 6 years now, has known him for twenty, and yet she still never knows what to get him. He always insists he doesn’t need or want anything. Veronica’s all for listening to her man when he’s being reasonable and grown up, but she still can’t just decide _not_ to get him a Christmas present. They both agree on letting slide Valentine’s day, their wedding anniversary, and their relationship anniversary, no gift giving there, but Veronica would feel cruel not getting him a present for his birthday and for Christmas. He deserves great Christmas presents, after the utterly inappropriate, albeit fancy, ones he got from his parents growing up.

But what the absolute heck could Logan want? Nothing, probably. Fine, then, what would he need? Also nothing, but their welcome mat is not looking too good these days and they’re on sale here, so she buys that. Not for Christmas, just for the apartment. Okay, well, if Logan doesn’t want or need anything, what would he like? She knows what he’d answer to that. Probably something cheesy like “just you, dear” or something he really shouldn’t be saying in front of her dad, like “those clothes off” while slipping a finger around the hem of her shirt. She still hasn’t forgiven him for that, and she reminds herself to give him a hard time about it tonight again when he tries to get her out of her clothes by nipping at her neck and she lets him because she’s just that weak.

She sighs, giving up for today, and tells herself she still has plenty of time until Christmas to come back to the mall and get him a great present. She only has five days left, but so what? Good things come to those who wait. Something tells her that saying doesn’t apply to procrastinating, but she frankly doesn’t care enough.

Just as she’s walking out the main doors, getting her keys out of her purse and heading to the parking, she spots a very familiar figure who is definitely supposed to still be at work at that time of day heading in her direction, looking down to where he’s walking. Well, well, well, if it isn’t her hard-to-shop-for husband.

“It seems like a very odd place to be meeting your mistress, I’m just saying,” she tells him when she reaches him.

His face breaks into a wide grin. She reaches up to kiss him, but he puts a finger on her lips.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but while I have no scheduled tryst with a mistress here, I happen to be very much in love with my wife.”

Veronica laughs and tries to bite his finger, but he removes it just in time. He’s gotten way too used to her doing that.

“What brings you here, then?” she asks.

“Just errands. Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you, the welcome mat’s life seems to be nearing its end. I was going to go look at the rugs, I think they’re having a sale.”

“It used to be so much hotter when we could read each other’s minds,” she sighs, then digs into her shopping bags to extract the mat she purchased earlier. “Does this one work?”

He grins again, and drops his lips to her forehead. “Yep.”

“So…” she asks innocently, “Are you coming home with me, then? Since the rug’s taken care of?”

“Hmm, but you’re forgetting my search for a mistress.”

“I thought you said you were in love with your wife?”

“She can be a bit intense.”

“Intense, like, replace the locks before you get home tonight, intense?” she presses on, widening her eyes.

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Well, then, I don’t know enough about your relationship to have an opinion, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman you’d want to cheat on.”

“She really isn’t,” Logan agrees, grabbing Veronica’s waist and bringing her to him for a kiss.

She giggles when she pulls away, then swats his chest.

“Go, get whatever it is you’re doing, done. I’m going home. I’ll make dinner tonight.”

“Special day?”

“Every day with you is special, sugar buns,” she answers mockingly, batting her eyelashes at him, and he laughs.

Logan steals one last kiss before they go their separate ways, and at the end of that interaction, Veronica still has no idea what to get him for Christmas, although she knows that she really, really wants it to be special. She just doesn’t know _how_. Hopefully in the next five days, some miraculous idea falls from the sky.

Logan is absolutely full when he and Veronica walk out of Keith’s place and to the car after the traditional Christmas Eve dinner at his father-in-law’s. (It’s still strange to him that Keith is his father-in-law. He’s gotten used to Veronica being his wife, even if it’s a benediction he feels every day, and he often marvels at how lucky he is that she said _yes_. But Keith Mars, his father-in-law? A part of him still imagines the disapproving looks he got in his teens, the complete lack of approbation he always received from Veronica’s father. And he can’t really blame him for that. But let’s just say that if you had asked Logan at 15 to put sheriff Mars and “law” in a sentence together, “Keith Mars is my father-in-law” would _not_ have been his first try. Or his second. Or even his third, or probably not his hundredth, either.)

“I’m ready to be rolled all the way to my bed,” Veronica moans beside him and he chuckles, opening the passenger door for her. It looks like he’s driving, today.

“I’m not rolling you up the stairs, but I can carry you from the front door to the bedroom,” he offers in what he thinks is a perfectly good bargain.

She snorts. “I know what happens when you carry me to the bed, Logan Echolls. And I am in absolutely no state to do any kind of physical activity, unless you want me to puke all over you.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I think I’ll pass.” Then, after a few seconds: “ _Any_ kind of physical activity?”

“Logan!”

“Fine, fine. Hey, are you feeling better?”

“Feeling better? Do you think the only reason I’d turn down sex is because of some illness or something?”

He rolls his eyes, but then lays them on her tenderly. “I meant your head. You said you had a headache earlier, when your dad served the wine.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, I did. Yeah, it’s fine. Probably just tired. But thankfully tonight I’ll get a full night’s sleep so it will all be perfect in the morning.”

“Sheesh, you _really_ don’t want to have sex with me.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes, and she turns to look out the window, the displays of Christmas decorations from all over their neighbours’ homes illuminating the dark night. Logan steals another glance at her while he’s driving, and it makes him feel like he’s seventeen, looking at her like that, beautiful in the passenger seat, excited and happy and completely unaware of just how much he loves her. She probably has a good idea, now, better than she did when they were seventeen, but he doesn’t think anyone can possibly grasp how all encompassing his love for Veronica Mars is. Not even her.

She turns her head to look at him, smiles, and he thinks, maybe she knows. Maybe this time it doesn’t scare her like it did when they were teens.

Logan wakes up to cold feet against his thigh. He groans, keeping a hand in front of his eyes to block out the light filtering into the room from god knows where. The owner of the cold feet is looking down at him angelically, like she didn’t just press her feet against him to wake him up, which is just about the worst way one can be woken up by his spouse.

“You couldn’t have gone for ‘good morning, my love’ or a kiss or even, god forbid, shaking me? You had to go for the cold feet?” he moans.

She at least has the decency to look guilty about it. “I was stretching to look at the alarm clock,” she explains. “The feet kind of launched themselves towards you.”

“Tell them to be careful,” he grumbles, and closes his eyes to settle back into his pillow, his back to her.

“But I saw the time, and I was wondering if it was a good time to wake you, and it _is_ ,” she insists, resting her head on his shoulder and draping her arm across him.

He is determined to ignore her and go back to sleep because it _feels_ early, but then she kisses his cheek and he opens one eye.

“What time is it?” he asks her.

“7:04.”

“Veronicaaaaa,” he moans again, and firmly closes his eyes.

She kisses his cheek again, but he won’t be convinced. 7AM, that’s way too early. She’s as excited as a kid on Christmas morning and – oh.

He opens his eyes again, reluctantly.

“Merry Christmas,” he tells her, pecking her lips and she smiles victoriously, like she’s won this round.

“Merry Christmas,” she replies, resting her cheek on top of his and drawing their hands together on his chest.

“Your present to me can be to let me sleep in.”

She pouts, and he feels the expression against his face. He smiles. At this point he knows he won’t fall back asleep.

“But your real present is much better than that. Aren’t you curious?”

“It seems to _me_ that you’re the one who’s curious about your present.”

“I promise your present is better than sleeping in. It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten you.”

“The _best_ , huh? How can you be sure?” he asks, bringing their joint hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles lazily.

“I just am. You’ll see.”

She kisses his cheek again, then his temple, and his nose, and finally, the corner of his lips, which tugs in an upward curve.

“All right, all right. But after I see that present, I want the promise of sleeping in many times.”

“Uh-huh, whatever,” Veronica answers, and he laughs.

Logan throws back the covers and smiles at her giddiness. He throws on some pants, and they almost match the shirt he slept in. Veronica’s already dressed in her favourite Christmas pajamas, that she only ever wears during the day. They’re too pretty to be hidden by the night, she says. Logan thinks they’re cute, so he doesn’t complain, just teases her about it. Endlessly.

“How long have you been up?”

She shrugs. “An hour or so.”

“Whatever happened to that full night’s sleep?”

“It’s not my fault the Christmas spirit woke me up early.”

He snorts, and follows her out of the bedroom, giving Pony a scratch behind the ears when she walks up to them.

“How did the idea come to you for this perfect present, then?”

“It wasn’t really my idea. It just… happened.”

That answer doesn’t make any sense, but he lets it go. He’ll see soon enough.

“Coffee?” he asks, gesturing towards the machine and pressing a few buttons.

She shakes her head. “I’ve got all the energy I need.”

She does indeed seem to have it. Who is possibly that perky at 7AM?

“You’re like a little child. I know you like Christmas – love Christmas, sorry,” he corrects when she cocks her head to the side, “but I haven’t seen you this excited about it in years.”

He takes a sip of his newly brewed cup, and looks at her unwavering smile. He’s really starting to get curious. “So what is it about this year?”

“You’ll see!” she exclaims, and she seems so impatient it’s adorable.

“Well, alright, then, bring it to me.”

“No, finish your coffee first.”

He raises an eyebrow questioningly but doesn’t comment. She could tell him to do a headstand before, and he’d probably only ask why after having done it. And she knows it.

He deposits his empty mug into the sink and joins her on the couch.

“So what is this mysterious present that is, if I remember correctly, supposed to be the best present I have ever gotten?”

“The best present _I’ve_ ever gotten you,” she corrects. “But probably the best present you’ve ever gotten, too.”

“You seem awfully confident.”

She ignores his last comment, picking up a box from beneath their tree and handing it to him nervously. Logan looks at her and she bites her lip when he pulls on the ribbon tying the box. He removes the lid and peers inside, then takes out the object resting at the centre, his heartbeat quickening.

“A rattle?” he asks, stating the obvious.

A Christmas rattle, to be precise, red and green and adorned with a reindeer. Veronica nods, several times, and when he widens his eyes, asking the obvious question, she nods again.

“Surprise!” she says lamely, complete with jazz hands and an uneasy smile.

“Are you serious?” It’s a rhetorical question she doesn’t bother answering.

He reaches over to take her face in both his hands and kisses her deeply.

“I _was_ going to put the test in there, but, you know, I _peed_ on it, so I thought it was a bit gross.”

He kisses her again, trying to gather his thoughts and send them all to her at the same time.

When they break apart, his hands still cradling her cheeks, he breathes a laugh of disbelief, and tears are pooling in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Veronica confirms, her own emotions coming to the surface too.

“How long have you known?”

“Three days. I realized I was late on my period, but I didn’t really think about it anymore for a few days and then it kind of occurred to me. And then it was so close to Christmas, I figured I could wait before I told you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Her eyes are sparkling, and her hair is messy, and she has clearly not had enough sleep, but she’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

He looks down at her stomach quickly, then takes a tentative hand down to delicately press it against her abdomen.

“I’m pretty sure it’s too early to feel anything,” Veronica comments, but Logan keeps his hand there, marveling. “Merry Christmas,” she says, quieter, pressing her forehead to his.

“It’s our last Christmas, just the two of us,” Logan realizes, his smile wider than she thought smiles could get.

She nods against him. “It is.”

“I have bad news for you.”

“What is it?”

“I think I’ve been lying to you for years. There _is_ someone I can love as much as I love you.”

She laughs, bringing her hands to his face. She kisses him, full on the lips.

“I can live with that.”


	4. Sweater Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan's attention gets caught by a lovely blonde woman in the office, who has a particularly developed love for Christmas sweaters.
> 
> AU in which Logan and Veronica are both lawyers, working in the same firm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story ended up about 3 times as long as it was intended, but I didn't have it in me to trim it down or divide it up, so it's getting posted as is!  
> It is set in 2015, which is not actually important, but it's the calendar I used for reference for the days of the week on which each day of the month landed, so I thought I'd throw that out there.

Logan had been working at Mullins Giggs for nearly a year now, yet he had managed to successfully avoid every and all social interactions with his coworkers outside of coffee breaks and company parties he had to attend. And even then, he usually left as early as socially acceptable, because they really were all hawks. He didn’t know what kind of nonsensical instinct had told him to go into entertainment law – really, what kind of idiot did he have to be? – but it of course meant that every single one of his colleagues knew very well who his parents were. Most of the general public had forgotten fallen star Aaron Echolls and his wife Lynn, whose career had been on the verge of taking off when her husband’s plummeted, tangled into a sordid affair with an underage girl. Needless to say, tons of lawyers had been involved in all of it, and then in their subsequent divorce, and they were still somewhat of a fascination, even nearly two decades later. There were still some souls, around his parents’ age, who remembered with fondness the golden era of Aaron Echolls, popping out blockbuster movie after the other, gorgeous wife on his arm, seemingly perfect. But the era had barely lasted a few years, Aaron Echolls’ movies were now passé and his name was one everyone in Hollywood had successfully decided to silence. It then followed that everyone else forgot about him, only to remember his existence when a listicle or other reminded them of fallen stars. People always listened to what Hollywood was telling them to think about. But lawyers were pernicious and usually had good memory. An asset, to be sure, for their profession, but a giant pain in the ass for someone who was trying to make his name on his own, who whispers of “Echolls… like Aaron Echolls?” did not particularly help.

So he avoided his colleagues, usually. Either they wanted his opinion on the affair – he had been 11 when it all unfolded, there was no opinion to be had – or, even worse, they asked if Aaron Echolls had really been _that bad_ and deserved to lose everything so spectacularly – short answer: yes. There was also the occasional youngster (not that he wasn’t a youngster himself) who brought up that his great-uncle’s stepson’s wife had been a lawyer on the case or something. Good for you, kid. Why in the world would Logan care about that? His connection to the case didn’t get much better. And frankly, why would he want to connect with _more_ people that were linked in one way or another with the stupid ordeal?

All in all, that made him a bit of a pariah in the office, which was new, because throughout school, he hadn’t had the courage to reject that attention, and had instead always glowed through it, reveled in it, and been surrounded with beautiful, rich people and their beautiful, rich problems without questioning it further. But by now he was tired of it, and realized that his schmoozing was only useful from time to time. So he talked only when necessary, turning up the charm for the social occasions, and stayed in the margin the rest of the time.

The other pariah in the office was Veronica Mars. She had been hired a few months before him, and had not seemed to make any more friends than he had. She was fierce, though, that much he knew, and no one ever saw her coming. In June, she had found the last shred of information that had made them nail to the wall three influent agents against whom several sexual assault allegations had been brought forward. Everyone had started to give up, seeing how little they had and frustration had been hanging in the air for days as they all worked overtime. And then Veronica Mars had waltzed in and boom, this tiny little blonde newbie had presented them with a thick folder. The case had been wrapped up within the week. It had been something similar in October, but this time for a case of fraudulent dealings on a movie set. Basically, Veronica Mars commandeered respect even if she didn’t engage with anyone. And maybe because of how formidable she was, the others didn’t really dare mess with her, either. Logan knew _he_ was intimidated by her.

Which was why it was a bit of a surprise when she turned up on December 1st wearing a Christmas sweater. Not even one of those godawful ugly sweaters. No, just a normal red sweater with snowflakes and a simple reindeer pattern. Whimsy, in the spirit of the season, unironic. It didn’t really fit with the hardass image everyone had of her, even if it definitely fit _her_. She didn’t behave any differently than any other day, though, and no one brought it up, so Logan didn’t comment.

The next day brought a new sweater, that one green, with delicate Christmas tree designs along the arms. Tasteful, again, and not too in-the-face. But definitely a Christmas sweater, and Logan wondered (a) how come she was such a Christmas sap, (b) if she had just lost a bet or something, (c) why no one was talking about this or seemed to care, and (d) why he cared so much that Veronica Mars was wearing a Christmas sweater.

December 3rd, Veronica Mars walked in with a cheerful sweater yet again, and Logan decided he had to ask _someone_ if they’d also noticed that their resident grey-pantsuit-wearing, career-ending, no-nonsense blonde coworker was wearing a sweater with a large snowman smiling up at them.

“So what’s up with Veronica Mars’ sweater?” he asked Ted beside the coffee machine when they were both taking a short break around 11.

“Huh? Oh, that. Yeah, no idea. She just likes Christmas, I guess. She did the same thing last year. That girl’s a weirdo, no point in trying to understand her. That’s not the kind of ‘under’ that’s interesting when it comes to her, if you catch my drift.”

It was hard not to. Ted snickered, and Logan didn’t bother hiding his disgust at his colleague’s comment, but didn’t answer. He hadn’t gotten in a fistfight in years, but he knew his reflexes were probably still sharp. And knocking Ted out didn’t seem like a good way to keep his job.

The next day, Logan kept an eye out for Veronica Mars, looking every few seconds at the elevator door that would inevitably bring her in the office. He liked getting there early, he usually was at his desk by 7, but she arrived around 8, still before most of the other newer junior associates. He glanced at the clock, quickly. It was already 8:14 and she wasn’t there yet. She wasn’t _supposed_ to be there until 9, but still, she wasn’t usually late. It was finally 8:26 when she walked in, visibly annoyed, and stalked towards her cubicle. She took off her coat, setting it on the back of her chair, and Logan let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. What was it to him that Veronica Mars wore Christmas sweaters throughout December? He had no idea, but he was curious, so sue him. Or don’t, because that wouldn’t bode well for his career. That day’s sweater was light blue, and it had snowmen on it, too, like the previous day, but they were smaller, resting on a layer of knitted snow at the hem, a series of them all around the sweater. It was pretty.

When he went to fetch his lunch from the fridge, he was surprised to find her there already, using the microwave. He nodded at her, like he nodded at everyone, because it was polite, but she looked surprised at the greeting. She returned it anyway.

“You were late, today,” he said, and he had no idea why he was saying that. Or anything, really.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you spying on me?”

He shrugged. “Just observant. Also, my desk faces the elevator. And not everyone arrives at 8, so it stands out. That’s all.”

She hmphed in response, getting her food out of the microwave. “Traffic,” she said, but it was too natural. There was something more and Logan wanted to know. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to know.

The next day was a Saturday, so if Veronica Mars wore a Christmas sweater, Logan wouldn’t have known. The day after that, either, but that didn’t stop him from wondering about her and her sweater. He wondered if the next week would bring recycled sweaters, or if she had a new one for every day. Then he wondered why he cared, yet again.

On Monday, he got a phone call from his ex-girlfriend Lilly Kane and spent nearly half an hour telling her he had to go to work and couldn’t be talking with her. His plan had been to ask her to come with him to his office Christmas party, because that was what they did each year, he attended hers and she attended his, to have someone to talk to and not have to bother finding an actual date, but this time she’d gotten on his nerves so he hadn’t dispensed the usual invitation. Maybe he’d invite her later, there were over two weeks left before the dumb party on December 22nd, anyway. And he always caved, no matter how annoying Lilly sometimes what.

The problem with talking to Lilly on the phone, besides everything, was that it made him late. It still made him earlier than most, and he certainly wouldn’t be reprimanded for it, but still. It felt strange to run into so many people on his way to work, to have to wait in line for his morning coffee to go, and to walk into his office section and find that it was not empty. He checked his watch, real quick. 7:33. Yep, he wasn’t _that_ late. But Veronica Mars was there, typing away on her computer, in a white and red sweater, of fucking course.

He had to pass her cubicle to get to his, which wasn’t something he’d noticed before because, again, he was always there first, but since it was only the two of them today… It felt rude to _not_ say anything.

“Good morning,” he told her, slowing when he neared her cubicle.

She looked up, like she hadn’t noticed he’d arrived.

“Oh, hi. _You_ look disheveled.”

There was a definite question in that statement, but he ignored it.

“You’re early.”

“Well, as someone so kindly pointed out Friday, I got there late. I’m just catching up that time.”

He hummed, nodding.

“How early do you get here, anyway?” she asked.

Oh, so now she was interested in him too, huh?

“Usually around 7. I had a bit of a setback.”

“What kind?”

“You know, you’re pretty curious for someone who wouldn’t even give me the real reason she was late on Friday.”

“H –”

He cut her off before she could ask how he knew. Or maybe she was going to tell him he was full of shit. Whatever it was, he cut her off before she could say it.

“I’m a lawyer too, remember? You may be the star here, but all of us are kind of smart. Most of us, anyway.”

She snorted, and he didn’t know if it was at his assessment of her as the star – which she was – or his assessment of their colleagues as kind of smart, most of them – which was a stretch, he had to admit.

He’d gotten to his cubicle by then, and she’d swiveled around in her chair to keep looking at him while he backed down the row. He gave her a small nod and wave of his hand, and like that the conversation was over.

The following day, she got there early again, but only by 15 minutes or so, by her standards. Logan was going to say hi – they were practically buddies, now, right? – but she didn’t look his way, so he focused back on his work. Well, after watching her remove her coat and taking in her fuzzy polar-bear-wrapped-in-Christmas-lights sweater, that is. It looked soft.

“Did you see the Mars girl’s sweater?” Ted asked Logan over lunch the next day. Logan had no idea why he was eating lunch with Ted Cross, because he was annoying and an asshole and had no class and Logan was about 78% sure he was sleeping with the secretary. Plus, Logan was positive he’d never said anything nice to Ted, so why Ted would want to eat with him was also a complete mystery.

He gave a noncommittal grunt in response, assuming that his full mouth would excuse him. He had noticed the sweater, of course. He probably would have even if he hadn’t been looking for it. It was bolder than her previous choices, golden threads throughout and a merry “Ho ho ho” stitched in white lettering on the front. It looked nice, it really did, especially on her, who could apparently pull off any corny sweater and still look like she meant business and knew she was smarter than all of them. (Which maybe she was, Logan didn’t know. She probably was.)

“The way it hugs her, you know.” The words were accompanied by a crude gesture Logan could have done without. He’d been getting worried that his interest in Veronica Mars’ sweaters was weird, but he had nothing on Ted. At least he didn’t make crass comments about her for everyone to hear. Cross that, at least he didn’t even have crass _thoughts_ about her, all the while maintaining she was a weirdo no one should socialize with. Men were disgusting, and Logan was speaking from firsthand experience.

On Thursday, December 10th, Logan came in late again. He had no good excuse this time, except seasonal depression, maybe, if that was a viable excuse. Mostly, he’d looked out the window when his alarm had sounded, and had decided that it was too dark outside. So he was striding into the office, coffee in hand, at ten to eight, and sure enough, the only person in his section was again the ever-elusive Veronica Mars, clad in the closest thing to an ugly Christmas sweater he’d seen her wear so far. It had a weird-looking pattern, hard to decipher unless someone was really looking, and Logan didn’t particularly want to be caught staring at her breasts, so the design of the black sweater remained a mystery.

“Good morning,” he said again when he reached her, because he really didn’t have anything better to tell her. He felt like another comment about her time of arrival would be one too many.

She looked up to him, and very nearly smiled. It looked like at least half a smile, maybe even two thirds, and Logan considered that a victory.

“Good morning,” she replied, clearly indicating that if he wanted a conversation to happen, he’d have to launch it himself.

Logan was never one to back down from a challenge. Bring up the sweaters? No, not yet. Eh, let’s just go back to her time of arrival. An oldie but a goodie.

“So, that excuse is starting to wear thin, I’m just saying. You’ve more than made up your not-traffic-related tardiness of Friday by now. If you want to spend more time with me, you can just say so, you know?” he smirked.

She laughed. “Darn. You’ve caught me red-handed. I come in half an hour earlier just so I can exchange awkward greetings with you.”

“I wouldn’t call them _awkward_.”

“I’d call the way you’re standing there awkward.”

“I’d normally go to my cubicle, but now I don’t want to leave you with so little if you make the effort to come early for _me_ every morning.”

_Ooookay, let’s both ignore the double meaning here. Please._

She rolled her eyes, but that curve of her lips could definitely be counted as a smile, so hey. Point: Echolls.

“I’m Veronica, by the way,” she said, extending her hand towards him.

“I know.” He shifted his coffee in his other hand to shake hers. “I’m Logan.”

“I know.”

“Well this sure has been a productive conversation, then. I think I’ll have to get to work, unfortunately. I’ll make sure to come say goodbye before leaving, so you don’t feel too sad.”

“Oh, thank god.”

He almost mentioned the sweaters, just to keep the conversation going, but decided not to, saving that for another time.

“Echolls, you must get laid often.”

Logan practically spat out his water. He’d zoned out, tuning out his coworkers’ conversation, but that brought him right back.

“What?” was all he could get out.

“Oh, come on, you know you do,” Spencer Flannery continued, and Logan wondered how the fuck the conversation had gone there while he zoned out. It couldn’t have been that long, could it? It had been a long week, sure, but surely his Friday tiredness hadn’t made him miss all that much.

“Sorry, why are we talking about this? I zoned out for a bit.” That was true. “I’m not sure what you mean by often.” Also true. “I’m sure you guys get plenty.” That was false. And also, why the hell was he talking about this instead of smashing Spencer and Ted’s heads into their plates, again? Oh, right. Keeping his job. What a pesky little detail.

Ted scoffed. “I know I do.” That Logan could believe, between his wife and the secretary. “But I’m a settled man.” That, Logan could not believe at all. “For bachelors like the two of you, the game is different. You gotta play the field to score. Flannery here is clumsy. I’m sure you have no trouble.”

Jesus, Logan really had to revise his lunch arrangements. He wasn’t especially keen or talking about any of that with _anyone_ , let alone Ted and Spencer.

He nodded noncommittally, shrugging and hoping it would get him out of answering.

“Do you, like, go to bars to pick up chicks?” Spencer asked. Logan almost groaned aloud. Apparently, no such luck.

“Uh, not really.”

Truth was, he hadn’t “picked up a chick” in months. He’d been on a few dates, most set up by Lilly, all pretty bad, and none of which with girls he had wanted to see any more of than necessary.

“Guy like him, with those looks, he doesn’t need to. They just throw themselves at him,” Spencer told Ted, as if Logan wasn’t there. He could have banged his head on the table. His own, Spencer’s, Ted’s… any head, really. Fucking hell, this was painful.

“Yeah, they just throw themselves at me,” he said with thinly veiled sarcasm, then stood up and walked back to his cubicle.

He bumped into Veronica Mars – just Veronica, he’d told him her name, so surely they were on a first name basis now? – on his way out of what passed as the cafeteria area, and gave her a curt nod she didn’t return. He didn’t think more of it.

Saturday, he met up with Lilly and her brother Duncan, his old friend from high school, for drinks. Lilly provided most of the entertainment and conversation for the evening, to the surprise of exactly no one. If Logan’s life was monotone and simple, Duncan’s was downright boring. Oh, he thought it was interesting, but neither Logan nor Lilly gave a crap about the fact that the latest poll projected him to win the next election by a 0.12% margin higher than the last ones. His fiancée, Meg, was nice, and when she was there she usually made everything livelier – not as much as Lilly, but still – and Duncan seemed more relaxed with her around. But Meg worked in a department store, so with Christmas looming, she was even busier than usual.

Lilly asked not-so-subtly about Logan’s Christmas party, but Logan managed to avoid actually saying anything. Duncan nursed an awful hangover the next day. Logan pretended he couldn’t see the looks two women at the bar were throwing him. A classic night out with the Kanes.

“Who’s the girl?” Lilly asked, siding up with Logan and nudging his shoulder.

“What girl?”

They were walking down the street, having just gotten Duncan into a cab to safely get back home.

“Please, Logan.” She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t even flirt with those girls who were eye-fucking you. I get you weren’t _actually_ into them, you’re a goody two shoes now or something, but you usually flirt back.”

“Don’t you think it’s nicer of me _not_ to flirt? That way no one holds out any false hope?”

Lilly laughed.

“Yeah, like that’s ever stopped you. Also, don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re not inviting me to your holiday party. Who are you taking?”

“No one.”

Lilly raised an eyebrow.

“Really, I’m not taking anyone. I haven’t been on a date in ages.”

“And why is that?”

“God, are you a shrink?”

“Practically. I work in a nail salon, I’ll have you remember. I’m basically my clients’ shrink.”

“You _own_ a nail salon, Lilly.”

“Same difference. Whatever. So you really won’t answer?”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Okay, if you say so…” Lilly said airily, like she didn’t believe a single word he said.

There _was_ no one.

He barely thought of Veronica and her sweater on Sunday. Just a fleeting thought. Did she wear Christmas sweaters when she was home, too, or just to go out in public? And then that was it, he didn’t imagine what kind of sweater she might wear the next day or what she wore underneath them. (They were big on heating the building, at Mullins Giggs, and even he sometimes got hot with his normal shirt, so sweaters had to be hard to bear in that kind of heat. It was purely consideration for her comfort and wellbeing. Or it would be, if he was thinking about it, which he wasn’t.)

He came in later than usual to work on Monday on purpose, and it wasn’t because that way he hoped he’d pass Veronica at her desk while he got to his. No, it was because it was simply ridiculous to wake up so early when it was so dark outside, and besides it was a lot of fun to wait in line five minutes for his coffee instead of having it ready and waiting for him when he crossed the threshold of the coffee shop. And he was always asked to stay a bit later at night anyway, even if he got there before the others, so there. It was for his own sanity and wellbeing.

Veronica was there, he saw her at her desk, with her light grey and red striped sweater with baubles stitched on the front, as soon as he got out of the elevator, and that didn’t elicit any kind of feelings in Logan at all, nope.

“Hey,” he told her when he reached her, because he was feeling that original.

She didn’t answer, didn’t even look up, and he frowned. But he was already just a teensy bit too far past her chair so it would be weird to backtrack just to share that bit of eloquence again. So he just sat at his desk, stealing a quick look at her over his shoulder.

Logan decided their coworkers were really all lazy, because that night, Logan and Veronica were the last two at the office. When the last two people were the same ones as the first two, Logan personally thought it was a good enough reason to consider himself an important asset. And anyway all those thoughts he was trying to rationalize, all those conclusions he was trying to come to, were utter bullshit. All he really noticed was that it was just him and Veronica, again. Which was totally not a big deal, they were just two very professional people trying to move up in the firm by turning in the best possible work. Still, he noticed it, whatever “it” was.

Just noticed, that was all.

He finished up his work around 7, deciding that he had to leave before spending 12 hours in the office because that was just sad. He gathered his coat and his briefcase, glancing at Veronica, still completely focused on whatever she was reading, highlighting carefully, biting the highlighter’s cap between her lips and Logan really just noticed that because it was strange. Not because it was cute or because his eyes gravitated to her lips more often than he liked to admit. Nope.

He risked a hand on the back of her chair when he reached it (she wasn’t leaning on the back, she was on the edge, so it was not creepy or anything, right?), and spoke up.

“Good night.” Then, after a second: “It’s already past 7, you should probably go home, get some sleep.”

When she didn’t answer, he wondered if she was wearing earbuds he hadn’t seen.

“Veronica?” he asked.

She finally looked up and, no, she was not wearing earbuds. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him like he hadn’t talked before her name.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You didn’t seem to have heard me earlier. Or this morning, actually. Is something bothering you?”

She gave a short, cynical laugh of a breath.

“Nothing more than usual,” she stated.

“Okay…”

But he didn’t move, waiting for her to say something. She huffed, visibly starting to get annoyed.

“Don’t you have some girls to go pick up at a bar or something? Or, no, I forgot, you don’t even need to be there, they’ll just throw themselves at you.”

She turned back to her work before waiting for an answer.

Logan opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He took a breath, like he was going to say something for real, this time, but nothing came out.

“I don’t go to bars on Mondays,” he said, opting for humour. “And I tend to carry an umbrella to fend off the throwing my way, on work nights.”

Never mind the fact that she had heard (parts of) his conversation with the two goons last Friday and apparently taken offense in it. Logan didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But right now he was angling for bad thing.

“Veronica?” he asked again, because damn it, she had to answer to _something_ and stop looking like she didn’t give a shit when she was saying things like that about him.

She turned again. “Whatever, Logan,” she said, all but rolling her eyes.

He took that as his cue to leave, even if he hadn’t really gotten where he wanted. He was left puzzled by his recent interaction with Veronica, mulling it over the entire way home.

The next day, she got to work at her usual time, breaking the previous week’s new habit of coming early, so Logan was the first in the office, like he’d usually been. Naturally, he didn’t miss saying hello to her on his way to his cubicle, and he barely noticed she was wearing an exuberant Mickey Mouse sweater. (Mickey Mouse was wearing a Santa hat, and it was snowing around him, so it definitely was a Christmas sweater, again.) Things were back to normal, and normal was good.

Still, when Veronica volunteered to stay after work on Friday night to help decorate the office for the party next Tuesday, and everyone turned to look at her because wearing Christmas sweaters was one step and voluntarily staying at the office after hours on a Friday was another thing entirely, and Logan raised his hand too to help her, ensuring that none of the others would stay with her, and she shot him a look that could only be described as a glare, it stung. Just a tiny bit.

He stopped at her desk on his way to his own after they all filed out of the conference room.

“You’re _welcome_ , by the way. For sparing you an evening with one of those classless guys.”

She narrowed her eyes, and she looked somewhere between disgusted by him and trying to decipher him.

“I just hope you’re efficient at hanging Christmas decorations,” she finally said, uncapping her pen.

He sighed, moved out of the way for Jeannie Gold passing behind him, and looked back down at Veronica.

“Did I do something?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you suddenly all… mean with me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you expecting me to kiss you on both cheeks and ask how your parents are doing?”

He huffed, getting frustrated.

“I’m expecting to know why last week you were joking around with me and now you’re all persnickety.”

“I’m persnickety with everyone.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

But what? He wasn’t everyone? That was a bit bold, and anyway maybe he was.

“Forget it,” he finally said, pushing himself off the wall against which he was leaning and walking back to his own chair.

The next day, he noticed a familiar blonde head a few people behind him in line for coffee. He bit his lip, wondering if he should do anything about it, and decided, why not.

He hung back once his order had been completed, deciding he could be a _few_ minutes later to work if it meant walking with Veronica Mars. He really only had meant to hang back, go talk to her, and then walk with her the two remaining blocks to Mullins Giggs.

When Veronica collected her cup from the barista, who cut off her motion of reaching for her wallet by pointing towards Logan, Veronica turned to look towards him and he tried to look as innocent as he could, which was obviously not much.

“I was told this is your change,” Veronica said when she reached him, holding it out to him.

“I didn’t know how fancy you take your coffee,” he explained, pocketing the change the barista really could have just kept, but whatever.

“Not very, it would seem. Um. Thanks, by the way,” she said, raising her cup as if to make her meaning clearer.

“Oh. You’re welcome.”

He held the door for her and they started walking side by side, taking occasional sips of their respective coffees.

“So how _do_ you take your coffee?” Logan eventually asked.

Veronica laughed, actually laughed, surprised laughter bubbling in her throat, and she wasn’t able to talk for a few seconds, her shoulders shaking silently. Logan laughed too, he didn’t even know why, but her laughter was contagious. Her entire face cleared when she laughed, frown lines erased, and she seemed to glow.

“Black,” she said, and laughed again.

“Like your soul,” Logan nodded seriously.

Veronica was still laughing. “Yeah.”

“So, what _is_ so funny?” Logan asked when she calmed down, which of course set her off again.

“Nothing!” she said. “I don’t know.”

She let her gaze wonder along the street, taking in all the Christmas cheer building up all around them.

“You’re like one of those people in bad Christmas rom-coms,” she finally said, and he grinned. “You know, the coffee shop encounter. If this keeps on, we’ll spend Christmas at each other’s house, knitting sweaters or something.”

“Darn, and I had plans lined up for that day. I’ll have to cancel.”

“Probably wise,” she nodded with a smile.

“So will you tell me why you were avoiding me?”

“What?”

“Well, now that we’re the protagonists of a Christmas rom-com, I think there’s some stuff we have to clear up before I pull you under a storefront with mistletoe and we make out.”

She snorted, but sobered quickly. “I don’t know.”

“Lie number 1.”

“Okay, fine, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Lie number 2.”

She huffed, annoyed. “All right. I liked you. Just, you’re more fun to be around than the other guys. You don’t seem to care as much that I’m a weirdo.”

“You’re not a weirdo. Well, okay, you are, but mostly just because you’re the best in the newer recruits, so.”

“And that’s not someone you want to punch?”

“Not right now, at least.”

She laughed. “And then… well, you probably guessed. That conversation I overheard that you had with those pigs Ted and Spencer. Kinda cooled me down.”

Did that mean she had been… hot, before? _Whatever, Logan, focus_.

“Yeah, not my most glorious moment. I probably should have toned down the sarcasm, not left so abruptly. My therapist tells me I’m passive aggressive. But they kind of deserved it.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “I guess I didn’t really catch most of it. From where I was, it sounded like you were agreeing with them.”

Logan widened his eyes. “Agreeing? With the bozo sleeping with the secretary and the idiot who thinks it’s still cool to wear a ton of Axe body spray like this is middle school?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve been acting like that with me because you misunderstood a conversation on which you eavesdropped.”

“Again, it’s a question of how you put it. From _my_ end it’s more that I found out that the one decent guy in the office was actually also a pig.”

He snorted. “That does sound so much more comforting.”

“Sorry?”

“Nah, don’t be. I did get to buy you a coffee while trying to figure out what I’d done this time.”

They’d reached the building, gotten into the elevator by then.

“You would have ignored me at the coffee shop if I _wasn’t_ being cold with you?”

The doors dinged open.

Logan shrugged. “I guess we’ll never know.”

Veronica rolled her eyes and Logan smirked. When they were both at their desks, Veronica called across the nearly empty room: “How do _you_ take your coffee?”

Oh, and her sweater was red again that day. With a green and white pattern. Not that Logan looked especially closely. Or noticed that she looked over at him several times during the day, too.

Logan was disappointed to arrive to the office before Veronica the Thursday. Not _very_ disappointed, just a tiny twinge of regret not to have someone to talk to. But then she arrived, ten minutes after him, cheeks still flushed from the cold, and he thought this was just as good.

He was surprised – but not complaining – when she dropped her coat and briefcase at her desk and continued over to him, leaning against his desk to sip her coffee beside him.

“Hi,” she said, and if he wasn’t at work, he probably would have kissed that cheeky smile off her face, or at the very least run a finger down her cold cheek. He noticed when she was sitting like this that her pants were a ridiculously good fit. Then he stopped looking at her thighs because he had only just regained his not-a-pig reputation the previous day, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Hi to you too.”

He just looked at her for a second, she was looking around the office, then he realized he should maybe try to accommodate her or something. Because offering her a place on his lap – which would have been the easiest position, really – was not an option, he moved a stack of papers from beside her to give her more space. The problem with that particular brand of gentlemanly behaviour was that it brought his hands much closer to her ass than he’d anticipated. She didn’t seem to notice, to his relief.

“So, in reality, what are you doing for Christmas? You going back to your hometown?” Logan asked.

“You mean you won’t actually come over to my place and knit sweaters?” she asked.

“I would love to, but, like I said, previous engagements.”

He didn’t have previous engagements, not really.

“I’m spending it at my dad’s,” she said. “He says he’s making dinner, but I’ll probably end up making it.”

“Just the two of you?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I don’t have a lot of extended family. Christmas is our time. What about you? Going home to your parents?”

“Nah, my parents are right here, no need to go far. My sister will probably throw something last minute for all of us to meet up.”

“Christmas is in, like, a week.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “Exactly a week to Christmas Eve.”

“And that’s the extent of your plans?”

“It always throws itself together in the last few days.”

She nodded, and finished her coffee. “Well, I’ll get to work.”

“The rush before the holidays does keep us busy,” he said.

She smiled, stood and walked back to her cubicle.

“Nice sweater,” Logan called after her and she turned to wink at him before sitting down. It had gingerbread men decorating a Christmas tree. He wondered where she found all those sweaters.

She repeated her action of coming to have coffee at his desk the next day, and he’d left papers off the spot she’d occupied the previous day, just in case. Neither of them commented on the action, they just chatted the few minutes it took for both of them to finish off their cups, and Logan took in her Darth Vader Christmas sweater. It was probably the most over-the-top he’d seen so far, with lights that could turn on and off, along Darth Vader’s lightsaber. It was impressive, really.

“Is this perhaps because the new Star Wars movie comes out today?” he asked her towards the end of their chat.

“Perhaps,” she smirked.

“So, you’re not seeing it? As you’re stuck with me on the very small decorating committee?”

“Alas. I have tickets to see it with my dad tomorrow,” she explained.

“A man of fine taste. Is he also into Christmas sweaters?”

“Secretly. He doesn’t wear them to _work_ like me, but he has his fair share, too.”

Logan hummed. “Please tell me you have some matching ones, because that would be adorable.”

She grinned. “One. We have _one_ that matches. I refuse to wear it in public.”

“Why? Is it embarrassing?”

She buried her face in her hands.

“His says ‘who’s your daddy?’ which is okay when he’s just _saying_ it, but sounds entirely wrong when it’s worn on clothing.”

“And yours?”

“’Daddy’s girl’.”

Logan laughed and Veronica cringed.

“It’s cute,” he said.

“At least one of us thinks so.”

Logan once again had lunch with the same idiots, and he wished he had just waited for them to be done before going on his own break, but his stomach had won that debate.

“Did you see how ridiculous the Mars girl looks today?” Spencer snickered. “I bet she hasn’t even watched a single Star Wars movie.”

Logan jaw twitched, and he forced himself not to say anything, because if he did, it probably would be vulgar and insulting, and he _still_ wanted to keep his job.

“I don’t understand why she keeps wearing her sweaters. Like she needs to be more of an outcast. That girl needs to get some, loosen her up,” Ted agreed.

Logan had never refrained from punching someone harder than at that moment. He stayed silent, his knuckles white as he gripped his fork with more force than necessary.

At 5PM, most of Logan’s colleagues filed out like clockwork, and by 5:30, Logan and Veronica were the only two left. Veronica looked up from her paperwork and over at Logan, who nodded. He got up and walked over to the decoration boxes that had been left for them on the secretary’s desk.

“Do you have any idea what we’re supposed to do?”

“Wing it?” Veronica suggested. “Just pick something and go hang it somewhere.”

Logan decided to start easy, taking a large wreath and going to hang it up on the large transparent bay doors separating the office from the elevator.

“So why’d you volunteer?” he asked Veronica.

“I had nothing better to do?”

Logan scoffed. “I’m sure you did. There’s a secret motivation behind there somewhere, and I will find it. You know, I still haven’t figured out why you were late that one time.”

“You _really_ need to get a better hobby,” Veronica declared.

“Oh, come on, you won’t even answer?”

“I just like Christmas,” Veronica shrugged. “And probably it makes me stand out even more and makes me even more of the weirdo of the office, but I just… really like Christmas.”

“Just trying to spread the seasonal cheer?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Christmas was always my favourite time of year growing up. As soon as the decorations went up and the sweaters came on, it was holiday time.”

“What’s so special about Christmas?”

“Geez, how long are you going to keep interrogating me?”

“I feel like I’m just getting to the interesting part.”

“So everything I just said was boring?” she asked, laughter in her voice.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned, nodding exaggeratedly.

She rolled her eyes, smiling at him. She shrugged and grabbed a garland, making her way to the end of the row of cubicles.

“I don’t know. It was just that one time of year when we were all happy, and cheerful, and the only thing my mother drank was eggnog, which isn’t as strong as vodka, and my parents didn’t fight because it was the holidays. And then when my mom left, we overcompensated and made it into this huge celebration. Christmas sweaters throughout December, tons of decorations…” She paused for a second, turning to look back at Logan, standing a few feet back, watching her. She frowned. “I don’t know why I told you all that.”

“My best guess is that I asked.”

“That must be it. So, are you just going to stand there or are you gonna help?”

He muttered something about her being bossy, but he grabbed another garland and started hanging it.

“Do _you_ like Christmas?” Veronica asked.

“Eh.” Logan shrugged. “It’s nice to get time off work. It’s okay to go to some parties. It’s whatever to see my family.”

“I take it you’re hoping your plans for Christmas don’t come to fruition.”

He shrugged again. “I don’t particularly care either way.”

When they were done, they locked the doors behind them and headed outside.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Logan asked, because at this point there was no point in pretending he didn’t enjoy her company.

“I’m told drinking on an empty stomach is a bad idea.”

“I’m not sure if that means you’re turning me down or asking me to dinner.”

“I am merely stating a medical fact I have heard parroted over the years,” she said innocently.

“Okay, let me rephrase that: can I buy you dinner?” he asked, crossing his fingers in his pockets.

She smiled. “Sure.”

On Saturday, Logan went to the mall and bought a Christmas sweater. Then two others, just so he had some variety.

The prices were outrageous this close to Christmas.

On Sunday, he wondered if it was strange to call Veronica. Then he realized he didn’t have her number and a work email was definitely weird. And he didn’t have anything to say, really. So he didn’t send anything.

“You’re wearing a Christmas sweater,” Veronica said with a smile when she propped herself up on Logan’s desk Monday morning.

Logan nodded. “I am. So are you, by the way. If you hadn’t noticed.”

She rolled her eyes. “I thought you didn’t like Christmas.”

“You say that like I’m the Grinch.”

“But you still said you weren’t particularly fond of the holiday cheer.”

“I said that.” He shrugged, motioning around them. “ _Someone_ around this office has been spreading Christmas cheer like crazy, I think I got infected.”

She scrunched up her face and lightly punched his arm.

“Ow.”

“It’s a nice sweater,” she said, running her hand down his arm. Down the sleeve of the sweater. Whatever, she was touching him and that was all that registered.

It was nice, too, as far as Christmas sweaters went. It was dark green, with white snowflake patterns. Nicer than the Christmas tree with actual physical tiny baubles hanging from the stitched branches that was across Veronica’s chest.

The look on Ted Cross’ face when he saw Logan’s sweater that morning made the purchase worth it, a thousand times over. The way he and Spencer stopped talking abruptly when Logan walked into the room to get his lunch from the fridge was almost as delightful. But really, it was still Veronica’s hand on his arm to feel the sweater that won that round, no question.

That evening, Logan started packing up around the same time as everyone else, glancing Veronica’s way and seeing she, too, had decided not to stay any extra hours. He stopped at her desk – he was starting to get used to that particular pit stop – and waited for her to finish packing up her papers before saying anything.

“So there’s this girl,” he said.

She looked up at him curiously. “Yeah?”

“She always comes with me to my office Christmas parties.”

“Mhm-hmm…?” she hummed, more a question than anything else. She looked a tiny bit deflated compared to before he’d uttered that sentence, so he took that as a good sign.

“Except this year, I didn’t ask her.”

“Oh?” Veronica perked up.

Logan nodded.

“You forgot?”

“I did not, incidentally. I kind of thought…” Logan looked down at his hands. “Maybe there’s someone else I’d like on my arm at the party.” He looked back up at her.

“Yeah?” she asked with a small smile.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I kind of had someone I wanted to bring to the party, too.”

“Oh.”

So much for trying.

“And he’s, like, really bad at picking up the signs,” she said with a shake of her head and a fake scoff.

“How bad?”

“It took him _months_ to ask me out, and even then he didn’t even do it straightforwardly.”

“Did he, now? And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing yet,” she shrugged mischievously.

“Veronica.”

“Hm?” she smiled up at him.

“Would you come to the Christmas party with me tomorrow?” he asked, caving.

“I’d love to,” she said with a smirk, then picked up her coat and walked away towards the elevator.

After a second of staring at her in wonderment, Logan pushed himself from her desk and caught up to her by the elevator. When she got in, he slipped in behind her and she still had a tiny smile, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

“General question: If we go to the Christmas party together, would I then be allowed to kiss you?”

Her face broke in a surprised grin.

“You probably would be,” she nodded emphatically, still looking ahead at the doors, not at him.

“Like, when?”

“At the end, like a proper date.”

“Right.”

They stayed in silence until the elevator doors opened and Veronica motioned for Logan to go first. They exited the building together.

“I’m that way,” Veronica said, pointing behind her when they stopped in front of the door.

“I’m the other way,” Logan replied.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah. Wait, hold on. Are you going home after work?”

“Yeah, I’m not wearing a cocktail dress all day.”

“Should I pick you up?”

“If you want,” she smiled. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I’ll text you my address.”

Before he had time to reply that he didn’t have her phone number, she was gone.

He received her text anyway, and saved her number in his contacts.

“How did you get my number?” he asked her the next morning when she sat at his desk.

“A lady never reveals her secrets,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee, her eyes gleaming when she looked at him.

It was a strange dynamic to be in. They were at work, it was like the past few days, their brand new habit already feeling like routine, and yet something was different. Maybe because he knew he’d be taking her out on a date, kind of, that night. As far as dates went, it was pretty lame, since they were both going to attend the party anyway, but they’d had dinner Friday night, and that counted for something, right? And taking it slow was good. And it just occurred to him he didn’t know if he was even allowed to date someone in his office.

Then there was also the fact that there was a kiss waiting for him at the end of the night, a promise he had every intention of making her keep. And there was also her sweater, ridiculously flashy and kitsch in its blinding colourful patterns, hugging her in a very enticing way. Logan was certain no one had ever looked good in an ugly Christmas sweater before her. His own sweater was not even ugly, but she looked better in hers than he did in his perfectly fine sweater, he was sure.

“If I come at 7:30, is that okay?”

“The party’s at 8?”

Logan nodded.

“7:30 is good.”

Logan finished his coffee and put his cup down.

“I’ll be there, then.”

She smiled, hopped off his desk and threw her empty cup in the trash. Then she gave him a small wave and walked to her desk, and he almost groaned. They’d probably have to stay at the party at least until 9, most likely 10. That was another 13 hours and a half at the very least until he could kiss her.

He showed up at her apartment building at 7:25, and that was after waiting by his door for seven minutes, willing himself not to leave yet. She buzzed him up and opened the door when he arrived at her apartment.

“Come in, I’m almost done,” she greeted him before walking away to a room down the small hallway.

He walked inside, awkwardly, and had a quick look around. It was tidy, clean, and _very_ decorated for Christmas. He wandered over to the shelf, where a little blonde toddler was pictured in a frame, sitting on Santa’s lap. It just figured that she’d have Christmas pictures around her apartment.

Veronica came back from her room, holding her hair up, twisting it into a knot, pinching a hair clip between her lips.

“Sorry for the mess.”

“What mess? Veronica, there is no mess.”

She shrugged, moving on to tying her shoes.

“You sure you’ll be okay with heels like that?” Logan asked, worried.

“If not, you’ll catch me, right?” she smirked.

“Of course.”

The thought made his chest warm, and it occurred to him it was probably twisted of him.

Veronica shrugged her coat on her bare arms, over her little black dress, and grabbed her purse from the counter.

“Ready?” she asked him, and Logan nodded quickly, making his way out of her apartment.

The party was, as expected, boring. Boring people, boring subjects of conversation. But the sparkling wine was nice, and Veronica liked some of the amuse-bouches. Logan would have rather had real dinner, but even he had to admit the salmon toasts were not bad. Overall, though, even if he and Veronica made their way through it together, he would much rather have moved on to the next part of the program.

He rather appreciated the looks the two of them got, though. In between all the spouses and some children, they seemed to be the only ones who had come together in between employees. And when Logan whispered in Veronica’s ear that she looked ravishing and she blushed, he caught Ted’s gaping mouth from the other side of the room. What was it about Veronica Mars that made her both someone they all seemed to like to hate yet also admire and lust after? Logan wouldn’t have known, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to care about the answer. Because maybe now their coworkers would be whispering about weirdo Veronica Mars and early bird Logan Echolls and how they were both _different_ and only talked to each other. And that made him happier than it should have. Office gossip was eerily similar to schoolyard gossip, and that he knew all about. He’d learned not to care years previously, and apparently, so had Veronica.

“Do you think we’ve fulfilled our duty?” Veronica asked, pulling him out of his reverie.

“My answer would probably be yes at any point, to be honest.”

Veronica laughed her crystalline laugh, and yep, he _really_ thought they had fulfilled their duty.

“Really, I think we’ve spoken to everyone we had to speak to. Is there anyone you want to say goodbye to before leaving?” Logan asked.

Veronica shook her head.

“Good.”

Logan put down his unfinished flute and guided Veronica to the coat check, his hand on the small of her back. It was thrilling that she’d let him keep it there most of the evening, but now it was intoxicating to think that was it, they’d finally gotten through that, and they could do whatever was next. Logan didn’t know _what_ was next, but it would be with Veronica, so it had to be good, right?

They both put their coats on and got into the elevator.

“Are you also hungry or were those tiny bites enough for you?” Veronica asked.

Oh, thank god.

“I’m starving.”

“I know a place.”

“I’m pretty sure I know _a_ place, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to get dinner or not?”

“Yes, yes, okay. Let’s go to your place.” He paused a second, the words sinking in. “I meant, the place you know.”

“I got that, but thanks for clarifying,” she smirked.

Her place, as it turned out, was Logan’s favourite sushi place.

“Christmas sushi?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sushi is good all year round.”

He couldn’t argue with that logic.

“Why were you late that day?” Logan asked in the middle of dinner, thinking it was as good a time as any.

“You’re really not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“I dropped a box of ornaments, they shattered everywhere, and I had to clean it all up,” she muttered.

“You were late because of _Christmas decorations_?” He was equal parts gleeful and incredulous.

“Yep. Nothing interesting, I’m afraid.”

“On the contrary, that’s very interesting.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. But it’s about you, so it interests me.”

She blushed, ducking her head.

Then they had hot chocolate, because it didn’t go well with the sushi, but it was kind of cold outside and it was the season and they both wanted an excuse to prolong the night.

It was nearly midnight when they reached Veronica’s building.

“I guess this is it for tonight,” Logan said.

“Looks like it is.”

Logan took a step forward, tentative, and brought his right hand to cup her cheek. Veronica tilted her head upwards to catch his lips when he brought them down to hers. He brough his other hand up to hold her other cheek, and her hands roamed up his arms. It tasted sweet – hot chocolate, but not only – and warm and soothing, somehow. Like the kiss was always supposed to happen, and now that it had, they could both breathe, having completed a task they didn’t know they had to complete in the first place.

Logan rested his forehead on Veronica’s, the tips of their noses touching, and he looked in her twinkling eyes, before kissing her again, just a quick peck, to remind him it was real. She bit her lip when his left it again and cocked her head to the side, giving a one-shouldered shrug he took to mean: why stop now? So he kissed her another time, longer, deeper, languorous.

Veronica trailed a finger down the side of Logan’s face.

“See you tomorrow at work,” she told him as she sauntered off into her building, addressing him a last wave as the door closed behind her, and Logan was left looking at a closed door with a large neon sign reading “Merry Christmas” for longer than he cared to admit, reduced to a smiling puddle.

Merry Christmas, indeed.


	5. Lax, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Veronica managed to make it through dinner with Veronica's family without their subterfuge getting exposed, but when familiar faces turn up at Logan's parents' Christmas party, it might complicate things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the continuation of day 2 of this collection, so you might want want to read that first!  
> Thank you for all the support you've shown this story in particular, I didn't expect so much enthusiasm for a part 2, so I hope this lives up to expectations.

Logan put a hand on Veronica’s thigh to calm her, then seemed to realize that was probably a violation of the ground rules, so he took it back.

“Your father and Wallace barely suspected a thing, and they actually know you and pay attention to you. It’s going to be fine with whoever is at my mom’s party.”

She nodded, then adjusted her dress before stepping out of the taxi with him. This was fine. By some miracle, they’d both survived, relatively unscathed, Christmas Eve dinner with her father, Alicia, and Wallace’s family – it helped that baby Noah grabbed most of their attention – so this would be a piece of cake. There had been one minor slipup when Logan had mentioned the Dodgers and Veronica had had to silence him with a jab of her elbow, because the Padres were the only allowed team in the Mars household, but it had generally gone swimmingly. Veronica was even a bit offended that everyone had bought so easily that she’d been with Logan for months.

She liked Logan, though. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the character he was playing of her doting boyfriend, with the added charisma of someone trying to win over the in-laws, or if it was just him. The party in his parents’ Los Angeles mansion should clear that up, though.

He offered her his arm and she took it with a smile.

“You look great,” he whispered in her ear as they made their way to the entrance and she looked down modestly. He tutted. “Eyes up. You’re here with the catch du jour. Pretend you know it.” She rolled her eyes and he smirked. “Better.”

When they made their way inside, the party was already in full swing, lights dimmed and a hired band playing stripped back versions of Christmas classics. Guests were milling about, most of them knew Logan and waved at him when they passed them.

“Do you want something to drink?” Logan asked her, maneuvering them towards the bar. “I definitely think it’s needed, and we need to stock up before Lilly Kane raids the bar.”

Veronica sputtered. “Lilly Kane?”

“Yeah. I think that’s her, over there.” He waited a few seconds, craning his neck, then looked back at Veronica when the Kane heiress turned around and he recognized her profile. “Yep, definitely her.”

“The Kanes are here?” Veronica asked, eyes wide. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad.

“Yeah, why? Do you know them?”

“I’m from Neptune! They practically own the town. Of course I know them!”

“Oh, right. I’d kind of forgotten about that,” he said offhandedly, handing her a glass.

“Do _you_ know the Kanes? Should we expect them to come talk to us?”

“Eh, vaguely. Our parents are friends. I grew up seeing them from time to time. Don’t know them all that well. Why? What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asked Veronica, smirking as he took a first sip of his glass of champagne.

“This isn’t funny,” she hissed. “Do you remember, a couple years ago, when Duncan Kane broke off his engagement and they tried to keep it all hush-hush?”

“Yeah…? I think I read about it at the time. Can’t say I remember it personally. I don’t think I even met the girl.”

“Oh, you have met the girl,” Veronica said tensely, looking around, and he raised an eyebrow.

“How are you so sure?”

“Because it’s me. I was engaged to Duncan Kane for about a year.”

Logan’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit. This is bad.”

“You think?” Veronica asked, taking a nervous sip of her glass. “You didn’t tell me the Kanes would be here!” she hissed again, accusatory.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize I had to give you the _whole_ _guest list_. There’s hundreds of people here! _You_ ’ve only been engaged to one person. Right?” She nodded, and he continued. “Well, that sounds like something I should have been briefed on before dinner at your dad’s.”

“It was an unnecessary topic. We don’t speak his name. He’s an ass and I haven’t seen him in years.”

Logan sighed frustratedly. “Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it? You’re here, I’m here, and you’re not leaving me now.”

She huffed. “Fine. But let’s try not to run into them.”

“You know what keeps people away?”

“What?”

“PDA. Really!” he insisted when she scoffed. “It makes people uncomfortable.”

“I am not revoking the ground rules.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Not even one kiss?”

“Logan!”

“Okay, sheesh. Are your kisses that precious that they have to be separately earned?”

“Yes.”

Her suspicions were starting to be confirmed: he’d really only been a perfectly nice guy because of the role he was playing. Logan Echolls was a pure jackass. Which was somewhat exciting, at least for the evening. No other man dared banter with her that way, they all seem convinced she’d break like a porcelain doll or something. It was ridiculous. Logan Echolls might be a jackass, but at least he kept her on her toes. As long as he also kept her furnished in drinks, she might just make it through the evening.

“Do you have to go say hi to anyone?” she asked when they’d backed away from the bar, not wanting to increase their chances of running into Lilly Kane. Lilly was nice, Veronica liked her (or had liked her, when they actually talked), but inevitably it would lead back to her brother, and that was not something Veronica was willing to risk.

“Nah. They’ll come say hi to me.”

 _Wow, so full of himself_ , she thought. Or maybe he was just realistic because, as he’d predicted, they didn’t need to seek out anyone to be constantly in conversation with (mostly boring) people from Logan’s past. Friends of his parents’, old schoolmates, neighbours, movie producers, and everything in between. He presented her perfectly nicely, a hand on the small of her back, to everyone, pulled her to his side when a drunken dancer came close to spilling her drink all over Veronica’s dress, and asked several times if she was okay, if she wanted another drink, if she needed some air. He offered her his suit jacket when they did get some air, removed his hands from her body when they were far from prying eyes, basically he was back to perfect gentleman on his best behaviour, like his smirk and quips were only for when they were alone.

It was nearing midnight and Veronica had been promised an escape by 1AM, so the ordeal was mostly over. Although, she found herself having more fun than she’d thought she’d have. Logan was captivating, the way he talked with all his body even when holding the most mundane conversations, how he’d steal quick glances at her throughout the night to make sure she was fine, how his nose would linger on her temple when he whispered her something for no one else to hear. They were always tiny details, like “the Kanes are coming this way, let’s make a break for it” or “my father’s that way, if he looks at you, pretend you didn’t see” and, once, a compliment like he’d paid her when they arrived, “thank god my fake girlfriend has repartee,” when she’d shut down comments on Logan’s debauched New York life, according to a man who was at least 80 years old and apparently a Hollywood legend of some sort. They were nothing, they were just warm words against soft skin, tiny sounds through gaps that got smaller as the night went on, the occasional accidental brush of lips against the shell of her ear she attributed to the increasing level of alcohol in both their systems. But every time he’d barely increase the pressure of his fingers on her back, not even bothering the fabric, and then lean in to her side, to whisper words for them to share, she felt a tingle down her spine and a flutter in her chest, and had to fight her eyelashes who wanted to match the movement. He could have told her he was going to go get his skateboard and show her some reckless tricks and she would have just nodded imperceptibly and leaned into the words, as long as they were murmured, whispered for _her_ , in that husky drawl of his.

She leaned in across the railway and glanced sideways at him, sitting on it a short distance from her. He was looking at her.

“Not bored out of your mind, yet?” Logan asked when their eyes met.

“Not yet,” she smiled. “Someone keeps me entertained.”

“I bet he’s great at it.”

“Hmm, not too bad.”

Logan scooted closer to her. “How’s your foot?”

“My foot? Oh. It’s all right. I can hardly feel anything anymore.”

A tipsy middle-aged man had stepped on it earlier in the night, and Logan’s fluid move to spin her to his side hadn’t been quick enough to quite spare her.

“Let me have a look?”

“What, do you have a med degree you didn’t tell me about?”

“Experience with injuries.”

That, she could imagine. A young Logan, getting into all kinds of disastrous situations.

“Does the LA party scene harden the foot of its young participants?” she teased, and he just kept looking at her. “It’s fine, honestly.”

“Okay.”

“You’re so serious all of a sudden. Are you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m trying to match the descriptions I got of DK’s fiancée with what I’ve gathered of you, and…”

“I’m even more of a money hungry bitch than I was described as?”

He laughed. “No. I’m trying to remember all I heard, it was a while ago and I didn’t pay much attention, but the portrait was indeed not flattering. It doesn’t fit at all.”

“So, if you were to paint my portrait, it’d be flattering?”

“Terribly.”

She inched closer to him. “So, you’re not regretting agreeing to my crazy idea yet?”

“Don’t think I will at any point, honestly.”

“There’s still time,” she smirked. “We should go back inside, the reason I’m here is mostly as arm candy, no?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course,” he said quickly.

He offered his arm again, exaggeratedly, and she took it laughing. Just as they entered the house again, they bumped into an elegant redhead in her thirties.

“Logan!” she exclaimed, eyes wide and hands splayed out to show off her manicure, and Veronica wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not. “And you must be _Veronica_ ,” the redhead continued, and she managed to emphasize and draw out every single vowel in Veronica’s name individually.

“News travel fast,” Logan replied. “Veronica, this is my sister Trina.”

“Nice to meet you,” Veronica smiled, probably for the millionth time that day.

“Of course, of course!” Trina exclaimed. Could she say anything in any other way? “That’s all everyone’s buzzing about, you know?”

“Oh?” Logan piped up.

“Absolutely,” Trina assured with a large nod, her eyes closed to accentuate. God, she was a born actress. Not a good one, though. “Five different people have asked me about your mysterious new girlfriend you seem so taken with.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair and Veronica kept an awkward smile. She looked up to Logan and gave his bicep a pat using her left hand, the right still gripping his arm. “Well, _honey_ , these people really are so very nice.”

Logan visibly hid a snort, disguising it as a cough and looking down so that Trina wouldn’t see the laughter in his eyes.

“Too much?” Veronica asked him once Trina had moved on to other guests (“Aaaanniiie! So nice to see you again!”).

“Not for Trina,” Logan replied, looking back at his sister’s figure mingling with guests. He brought Veronica’s hand upwards and brushed his lips on her knuckles. “But maybe smaller signs will fool others better.”

“Like that?” she asked, gesturing with her chin to her fingers still delicately held into his.

He repeated the gesture, soft lips on cold skin. “Exactly like that.” And he let her hand go again.

“Logan, man! Long time no see!” a voice behind them called, and Veronica went white as a sheet. It was way too late to try to make a break, so Logan, who had evidently also recognized the voice, put his hand on hers on his arm to communicate… sympathy, maybe? Courage? Regardless, they both turned, and Veronica forced her face to remain as impassive as possible.

“DK!” Logan said joyfully. It sounded forced, Veronica thought, but Duncan didn’t seem to realize.

“How are you, man?” Duncan asked, and as he was about to follow up with what would undoubtedly have been another platitude, his eyes fell on Veronica. “Veronica?”

She made a jazz hand, singular, keeping her other firmly on Logan’s arm. If she fainted or fell or got weak, she needed to be holding something. “In the flesh,” she said with a tight smile. “Nice to see you, Duncan.” But it most definitely _wasn’t_ nice to see him, and she assumed he felt the same way.

“I, uh, didn’t know you were back in California. Or that you knew Logan,” Duncan said, looking back up at Logan for a flash.

Veronica looked at Logan too, quickly, and he was looking down at her with a half-panicked smile.

“Uh, yeah, I’m not really back. _We_ aren’t really back. Just home for the holidays.”

That was the moment Lilly chose to make an appearance, holding a glass for her brother. Her dress was ridiculously low cut, bright red velvet with white lace to enhance places that didn’t especially need the enhancement to stand out.

“Veronica!” she said, surprised, when her eyes landed on her ex-future-sister-in-law. What a mouthful.

“Lilly! How are you?”

Lilly leaned in to kiss Veronica on both cheeks, before airily declaring, “Oh, you know, I’m just livin’ the life, seeing the sights… But how have you been? It’s been so long!”

It had been roughly 4 years, ever since the day her engagement to Duncan had been donezo and she’d thrown the ring in his face, then hightailed the fuck out of there, barely stopping to talk to Lilly on her way out.

“Oh, you know… been living in New York, just back to visit my dad. Logan just met him yesterday,” she added, looking up at her supposed-boyfriend, who hadn’t said much since the beginning of the conversation.

“Yeah, dinner at the Marses’,” he piped in. “Hey, Lilly.”

“Oh, hi, Logan. So are you two…”

“Yeah!” Veronica said nervously, aiming for eagerness about her relationship. “We’ve been dating for a couple of mouths. It was _such_ a coincidence that we’d both be from the West Coast.”

“Well, you know what they say, birds of a feather…” Logan said.

“Right!” Lilly said, as her brother was still mostly mute, looking at Logan and Veronica curiously.

“Oh, look at that, there’s Carrie over there,” Logan squeaked out. “Come on, sweetie, I’d like to introduce you.” He turned apologetically to the Kane siblings. “Let’s catch up sometime, okay?”

They both nodded, different levels of intrigued, and Logan steered Veronica away from them.

“It could have been worse,” Veronica offered, playing nervously with her earring.

“Possibly. Hard to imagine, though. Carrie is the one with the purple hair,” he informed her with a head gesture.

“The ex? The reason I ran into my own ex-fiancé today?”

Logan cringed. “Yeah.”

“Bring it on.”

He beamed at her, then leaned in to her ear again and she felt her entire body both relax and tingle with excitement at the same time. “After that, I think we’ll have done our duty.”

There was no good reason she could think of for him to whisper the last part and not the rest of the conversation, but in that moment she truly didn’t care. He could keep talking in her ear for hours, he could recite the phonebook for all she cared. The sensation of his warmth so close to her was intoxicating.

His hand had slipped down to the small of her back again, and she’d let his bicep go, and she felt the loss of his presence on her bare arm when he pulled away from the whisper. She nodded with a smile, and he nodded back, intercepting his infamous ex-girlfriend.

“Carrie! How are you?”

“Logan! It’s – it’s nice to see you!”

“You too, I didn’t expect you there.” That was a bold lie, Veronica thought.

He looked like he just remembered he had someone with him and Veronica had to give it to him, he’d gotten better actor genes from his parents than his sister had. She could have been fooled.

“Have you met Veronica?”

Of course she hadn’t, but Veronica smiled warmly and shook Carrie’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?” Carrie remarked curiously with a smile in Logan’s direction.

 _Ooo-kay_. Veronica could see why Logan needed a whole invented girlfriend as a diversion, because even with the girlfriend present, Carrie seemed completely unabashed to be flirting with her ex. Veronica didn’t have a hard time believing that if she wasn’t there, Carrie would be drooling over Logan now, or at the very least pressing herself up against him.

“Well, you know. The classic roundup of the exes when you start getting serious about a relationship,” Logan explained.

 _Way to lay it on thick_. But hadn’t she been the one who’d decided to make them pretend to be in a long term relationship? She shut up.

Within a few minutes, the conversation had been wrapped up, pleasantries exchanged and false promises of catching up later volleyed back and forth. Veronica’s feet were starting to hurt, so she welcomed the idea of getting into her cab and collapsing on her hotel bed.

“Will you look at that? Barely an innuendo. I call that a success,” Logan boasted, smiling down at her.

His eyes were bright and happy and Veronica almost forgot it was fake. And maybe he did, too, for an instant, because he leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek even if no one was around them anymore, and he whispered again and maybe he also liked whispering against her skin and maybe he’d keep doing it forever if she just remained still.

“You’re magic,” he breathed out, and she stayed too stunned too move.

“Come on,” he nudged her after a few seconds. “Unless you want to stay at this party?”

She shook her head, of course not, but at the same time… maybe? Once she was safely in her cab on her way to Neptune and he was in his to his hotel, their arrangement would be over and he wouldn’t say her name in that little boastful rich boy voice of his to impress unsuspecting old friends, he wouldn’t guide her nimbly through the crowd using only the tips of his fingers, he wouldn’t look down at her warmly to make sure she was still okay with everything. They would just both be back to their holiday celebrations, then back to New York in their individual, separate lives. And Veronica knew she shouldn’t care because this man was a stranger – a helpful stranger, a handsome stranger, even a stranger she appreciated, but a stranger nonetheless. But she did care.

Logan bypassed the teenager his parents had hired for the coat check to go get her light shawl himself, and he draped it lightly across her shoulders when he joined her outside. His face came close to hers in the motion, and Veronica found herself hoping it would stay there.

Logan had called a cab, he said, and it would be there in five minutes or so. She turned to him, still right by her, although he’d let his hand drop down to his side.

“Thanks for saving my ass with my dad.”

“Thanks for saving my ass with this party. You’re a pretty good fake girlfriend.”

“You’re not too bad of a fake boyfriend, yourself. Hey, uh… No, never mind.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing, forget it.”

“Veronicaaa,” he whined, and she would have rolled her eyes, but to go with his petulant tone, he’d lightly poked her ribs, so she just welcomed the contact.

“I… Merry Christmas,” she just said.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied seriously, and when she looked into his eyes, all she saw was fire. Not quite the fire itself, not really, but the dark, crackling wood assailed by flames, feeding them.

“Thank you for calling me a cab.” Anything to keep the conversation going, keep him talking, keep him looking at her like that.

“Can I come with you? I just don’t want you to be out alone so late. I’ll drop you off at your hotel and head to mine.”

“That’s an hour and a half of a detour for you.”

“For safety.”

“I’m a big girl.”

“I’m an even bigger guy.”

She wanted to huff, say she didn’t need his muscles or height to defend herself, that she was an adult, thank you very much, but also… it was Logan. She didn’t know what it was about Logan, but she didn’t feel like he was belittling, just genuinely looking out for her. She should have been annoyed, but she just smiled at him warmly.

“Okay.”

“Okay? I didn’t think you’d agree so fast.”

“You’re right, I’m a tough cookie. I must be tired.”

“Or there’s just something about me.”

Yeah, that.

Logan raised his hand up to her face and she though maybe he’d drop it against her cheek, but he just pushed away a strand of hair from her face.

“You remember those ground rules?”

“Yeah?” Logan asked, removing his hand, completely misinterpreting the reason she’d brought the subject up.

“I’ve been thinking… maybe they could be a little more… lax.”

“Lax, huh? What kind of lax?” he asked, and that giddy fire was back, the boyish grin and flushed skin.

She didn’t answer, instead deciding to (metaphorically) cross her fingers and hope for the best. She tilted her head upwards and, probably by instinct, Logan dipped his down, and Veronica brought their lips together. He tasted like the champagne they’d had, and it was almost tender the way his nose bumped into hers. She’d held on to his fingers to lift herself up to him, for courage maybe, and he brought their hands up, at eye level, and tangled their fingers together. She rested her forehead against his cheek, mesmerized by his action, and he dropped a kiss to her temple.

A strong light suddenly illuminated the two of them, and Veronica shielded her eyes with her free hand as the taxi turned the curb and stopped in front of the house. She looked up at Logan, then tugged lightly on his hand, and they walked together to the taxi, settling side by side in the backseat. He brought their hands upwards again and kissed her wrist, smiling against her skin, and she fought a giggle.

They barely talked in the hour leading them to Neptune, but they didn’t let go of each other, either. They didn’t have the same flight back to New York. They were both free on the 28th. It had been high time she lifted the ground rules. That kind of stuff.

Veronica wasn’t surprised when he got out of the cab with her, and she was glad she didn’t have to ask, because it would have been awkward with the driver there.

When she thought of that story in the years to come, she reminded herself that it was late, and making the commute back to LA would have been a drag for Logan, and that her hotel room had two beds. _Yeah, Veronica, that doesn’t change the fact that you only used one_.


	6. Oh, Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Veronica set up Christmas decorations for their first white Christmas.
> 
> In my mind, this is in the same universe as my day 3 story in this collection, Rattled, a few years later, but there is no mention of it, and you don't need to have read Rattled to understand this story at all. So, this one is also set after season 4, but with the difference that Logan didn't die because I prefer thinking that never happened :)

“It won’t fit in the house! I’m telling you, it’s too tall!”

“I have a much better gauge of how tall the ceiling is,” Logan reasoned. “It’ll fit.”

“Just because you’re taller doesn’t mean you can gauge heights better than me,” Veronica argued.

“Well, I know the ceiling isn’t half a foot from my head. And this tree is.”

“We’re not putting it right on the floor. We have to put it in the support. That’ll add at least another half foot.”

“Another half foot,” he scoffed. “Four inches at most.”

“Well, are you sure the ceiling is less than _10 inches_ from your head then?”

Logan hesitated for a second, before affirming, “Yes.”

“You’re the one who’ll saw off the bottom when it scratches into the ceiling. AND you’re the one who’ll tell the kids why we can’t have a star at the top of the tree this year.”

“There’ll be room for a star.”

“Oh, so you know there’s half a foot of tree, four inches of support, and five inches of tree topper between your head and the ceiling? That’s 15 inches, Echolls.”

“Of course,” he repeated, decreasingly sure of himself, but not wanting to deflate in front of his wife. He could win this argument. He totally knew what he was talking about.

“Well then, by all means…”

Veronica made a sweeping motion with her arm, and Logan didn’t appreciate the smug air she had when the Christmas tree farm employee wrapped their tree. She was apparently already imagining him using a saw – laughable and highly entertaining on its own – judging by the look on her face, along with her certainty that she was right. Although that obviously was not new. Veronica _always_ thought she was right, and that had been true for as long as he’d known her.

Together, they carried the tree to the car, and the employee helped them secure it on the roof. It was Logan’s first time picking his own Christmas tree from a farm, having grown up in Southern California, and Veronica’s, as well. It was fun, even if it involved a series of disagreements with Veronica. Then again, so did almost everything, and he’d been addicted to that for two decades, so it was no surprise. It had taken them almost an hour to choose the perfect tree – perfect in Logan’s eyes, nearly perfect in Veronica’s, because of her disturbing lack of faith in his ability to gauge their ceiling’s height.

“I’m just saying that we should have measured the height of the ceiling before leaving,” she said, getting in the driver’s seat.

“I know the height of my own ceiling, thank you very much.”

She leaned in over the stick shift and kissed him. “I am _so_ going to enjoy watching you saw off the bottom of the tree in the snow-covered backyard, California boy.”

Then she pulled away, smirked, and started the ignition. Logan was losing a lot of his confidence, now he was getting scared (and a bit turned on). Good thing the kids weren’t supposed to arrive until the next day, maybe Veronica would agree to a break in between decorations, clothing optional? Knowing her enthusiasm for Christmas decorations, though, he doubted it.

It had been his idea to have Christmas up in Colorado. The last time he’d spent Christmas break in the Centennial State, it had been Aspen, freshman year at Hearst, and that was something he wished he could erase from his mind forever. So overriding the few remaining memories of that winter break with new ones with Veronica and the kids sounded like a wonderful idea. When he’d brought up the offer one of the guys from his squadron had made to let them have his cabin for the holidays, she hadn’t been convinced. The kids were still young – 1 and 3 years old – and no one in the family had ever experienced a proper winter in snow, or had warm coats for the season. And of course, she also associated Colorado with Aspen and Madison Sinclair. Logan had thought for a second to say that if they slept together twice or more during their stay, he’d have had sex in Colorado with her more times than with Madison Sinclair, and didn’t that sound like an interesting endeavour? But he’d held his tongue because even if they both knew they were thinking about it, saying that kind of thing out loud was sure to earn him a big, resounding no.

But in the end, the idea of giving the children a Christmas with real snow had been impossible to pass up. The cabin wasn’t so much a cabin as a house, and it was in a relatively well-populated area, so if they had a problem, there would be people around to help them. There were Christmas decorations in the cupboards, ready to be used (and Veronica planned to use them _all_ ), and the two of them had flown in the previous evening to get everything set up before Keith arrived with the kids. Logan had been hesitant to leave without them, but Veronica assured they would be safe and happy with their grandfather. She was more worried about her father, who would have to struggle with two tiny humans for a day, and who wasn’t as sprightly as he’d been when he only had one small blonde menace to manage. But he’d assured her he’d be fine, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to his grandchildren, and that he would keep her updated through the day. Logan was going to pick up the lot of them from the airport the next day, and all would be well. No toddler running around the strings of lights and risking to trip, no baby crying while mommy was on top of a ladder, hanging decorations.

Veronica pulled in the driveway and started untying the tree from the roof.

“Go open the door,” she told Logan, who climbed up the steps and obliged.

“Don’t you want help carrying that?” he asked, worried.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that heavy,” she heaved, pulling the tree into her arms and nearly toppling over.

Veronica had clearly never thought about the weight of snow, and a noticeable amount of it had fallen since they’d left the farm, coating the tree’s branches. She swore under her breath, but soldiered on, pushing and pulling the tree as she walked towards the stairs.

“Shake it a bit, to remove the snow,” Logan unhelpfully called out.

“Hadn’t thought about that, thanks,” she replied sarcastically.

Logan shrugged, letting her have it her way. There was no way she’d be able to get it inside on her own, but she could figure that out herself.

He got worried when she reached the third step of the stairs leading to the porch and slipped on ice, catching herself before she fell over. He walked down a few steps to get level with her.

“Come on, let me help you.”

“I can do it! I’m doing fine!”

“I know we said for better or for worse, but by ‘for worse’ I meant helping you when you’re three seconds from dying smothered by a Christmas tree, not _accepting_ that you will die smothered by a Christmas tree.”

“Although that _would_ be worse, so your wedding vows were bullshit, I see.”

“Language,” he replied instinctively before realizing the kids weren’t there to hear their mother swear.

Veronica rolled her eyes but let him grab the stump of the tree as she kept holding on to the top.

Once they got inside and settled the tree in the awaiting support, Veronica let out a cry of triumph.

“Get the saw, mister. _You_ … were wrong.”

Logan groaned. Now not only did he have to find a saw, use it, and not cut his fingers off, they also had to take the tree back outside for the whole operation, and then get it back in. His back ached just at the thought.

An hour later, the tree was back in its support, a few of the bottom branches had had to go so that it fit inside, the tree was unwrapped and slowly unraveling, drinking in the water they’d given it, Logan’s back hurt like hell and Veronica was still wearing her smug grin.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You got in some workout, haven’t you been saying you haven’t been able to work out as much as you’d like since the kids were born? You’re _welcome_ , Echolls.”

Logan rolled his eyes and Veronica winked at him as she walked past him to the supply closet. She handed him a box of outdoors lights and got another out for herself to carry.

“Come on, let’s decorate outside while the tree breathes.”

Shoveling the fresh snow out of the way to steady the ladder properly meant that Logan asked if they should just wait until it had stopped snowing, but Veronica pointed out that they didn’t know when it would end – if ever, she’d dramatically added and Logan had gotten a peek of the girl she’d been when he’d met her – and that it was better to hang decorations while being covered with snow than to hang decorations with babies to watch while her father snored, anyway. Those were the less glamorous sides of a white Christmas, Logan thought as he held the ladder steady for his wife, regularly handing her a new section of lights and wiping away the thin layer of snow on his hood.

As Veronica stood on her tiptoes an umpteenth time, swaying dangerously, Logan grabbed her thigh to settle her.

“Getting handsy, are we?” Veronica teased, showing no sign of modifying her precarious method.

“I just don’t fancy becoming a widower quite yet.”

She scoffed. “You think you’ll outlive me? This gal’s seen her fair share of near-death experiences and has survived all of them. I am totally tougher than you are.”

“Let it be known that I do not contest any part of that statement, but it’s not funny, Veronica.”

She pouted playfully, looking down at him from the top of the ladder, and placed a hand down on his, still resting on her thigh at the end of his outstretched arm. “You used to find that funny.”

“I also used to beat the shit out of your boyfriends and get completely wasted to forget that I didn’t feel like I’d ever be worthy of you. I like to think we’ve moved past that stage of our relationship.”

“Fine, fine. You’re so tense, today. Are you okay?”

He smiled up at her, ran his free hand across his face and gave her a small squeeze with the other one. “Yeah. Just tired from the shoveling, and the tree.”

“I’d say you’re getting old, which is adorable, but I know you, Logan, and you are bullshitting me right now.” She held up a hand to stop him when he opened his mouth. “ _You_ have something on your mind, so cut the crap and tell me.”

“Okay, for one, you’ll have to tone down _that_ vocabulary starting tomorrow.”

“But you _know_ you want me to stay foul-mouthed for tonight.”

He smirked and gave her thigh another squeeze. “You are welcome to use any and all expletives tonight while I rock your world.”

She snorted at his choice of words, but let him go on. He still had something on his mind, and she wasn’t about to let him get away with deflecting. They were both lifelong experts at that, but she liked to think that they’d learned through time to work on that and that they could have an honest conversation.

Logan sighed. “Don’t worry about it.”

She glared at him. “Honesty. We said _honesty_. At all times. Look, I know I’m not always good at that. But you can’t keep what’s bothering you from me. Last time we tried that, we imploded and then didn’t speak for a decade.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve tried that since then.”

She kept glaring, so he sighed again, then looked down, slipping his hands back into his pockets. “Do you miss it?” he asked.

“Miss what?” Veronica asked, confused.

“Before. When I was impulsive and you were free not to care about laws and had your way anyway. When I’d laugh with you about our uncanny ability to get ourselves in life threatening situations.”

Her face softened, and she climbed down the ladder to be level with him. “Hey,” she nudged him so he’d look at her. He did, lifting his face slightly.

“No.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “No. A part of me is nostalgic about it, sure. But I know it was unhealthy and a really, really bad dynamic in the long run. Those two people…” she had a small laugh, “they’d be dead by now. Seriously. I don’t mean it in a depressing way, but they would be. They’d have self destructed, destroyed each other, or been destroyed by their careless lifestyles. Those two people could never coexist properly. Those two people wouldn’t be hanging Christmas decorations in the snow in Colorado, because that girl would go feral about the thought of Aspen. Those two people wouldn’t have two beautiful, perfect children,” she added softly, taking his hand, and he smiled at her. “Okay, so we’re still kind of winging it in that department, but so far they’ve turned out okay. And the people we were back then? They’d probably have gotten at least one of the kids killed by now.”

“This is taking a dark turn.”

“This whole thing started with you talking about becoming a widower.”

“This whole thing started with you being absolutely careless about the safety of the mother of my children.”

She rolled her eyes, but leaned up to kiss him.

“You’re not _just_ tolerating me because of that, are you?”

“I’m barely tolerating you as is,” he smirked, and brushed snow from her hair.

“Liar. You love it,” she whispered, pressing her cold nose to his.

“Hmm, I do,” he agreed, not even bothering to keep it up.

Veronica reached up her gloved hands behind her husband’s head and pulled him down to her, capturing his lips into a warm kiss. She hadn’t anticipated how cold her face would get outside like that, and Logan’s breath was a nice change. So were his hands, somehow still warm despite the cold, cupping her cheeks, thumbs tracing small patterns on her skin.

“I loved you, then,” Veronica feels the need to add. “I wasn’t the best at saying it –” Logan snorts at the understatement – “but I did. I really did. But that was never going to be enough. We had too much shit going on, too much pride, just too much. I wish it hadn’t taken us nine years, but we needed the time apart, we needed to get our lives together and become full people without trying to fill up the pieces the other missed, because there were too many and we were both too broken to function properly. I’m grateful for the time with you. But I don’t want to go back to that time, because now is so much better.”

“You’re just saying that because 19-year-old Logan didn’t knock you up.”

“If he had, he would have panicked, been there for me, and then resented me because of the way I’d treated him through all of it. That kid wouldn’t have had the happy life ours have.” She stopped a second, contemplating. “Well, at least I _think_ they’re happy. Are we awful parents for coming here without them?”

Logan smiled tenderly, kissing her forehead. “No. And we’re only leaving them for less than two days. _And_ they’re with your father, who managed to raise you okay. I mean,” he said, poking her ribs and she squirmed, “there were some definite failures, but he didn’t do _too_ bad.”

“What kind of failures?” Veronica asked, smiling.

“See, at 19, that would have chilled me to the bone because you would have been seriously asking.”

“Who says I’m not? At 19, you would have gotten frustrated and moved out of my arms. And avoided answering, like now.”

He moved from one foot to the other, trying to think up an answer. “The kid he raised cannot, under any circumstances, admit she needs help. Not out loud, and hardly ever in any other way either.”

“You mean to say he raised a resourceful, competent daughter who is good at everything?”

Logan laughed, low and warm and it sent a wave of calm and a feeling of home through Veronica’s stomach.

“I’m certainly not saying he _didn’t_.”

She nuzzled her face into his neck. “I’m glad you called me.”

It was a very broad remark, and he probably shouldn’t have known what she was talking about, but he did. After Carrie died, when they hadn’t been on speaking terms, not really. That phone call.

“I’m glad I called you, too. Do you think we would have found our way back to each other if I hadn’t?”

“You’d probably be on death row without me, so no.”

“I’m serious.”

“I think so. There’s always been something dragging us together, hasn’t there? You’re a magnet. I would have found my way back to you eventually.”

“Or I would have,” he amended.

Veronica nodded into his shoulder, then kissed his jaw. “Come on, back to work.”

“Let me on the ladder?”

“No.”

“Come on, I’m taller, it’ll be easier.”

“Yeah, seeing how well the height card worked the last time, I’m not taking that chance.”

“Veronica…”

“Shut up and hold the ladder steady.”

He rolled his eyes but did as instructed. He’d save his energy for something else. After all, they had a house entirely for themselves for almost a full other day, and it had been ages since they hadn’t had to bother about waking the kids.

“We do have a life insurance policy, right? If you die, I get the money?”

“Wasn’t part of the point of you being a real-life Navy pilot that you’d earn money that does _not_ come from a dead person?”

“Dead wife in a tragic Christmas light accident is totally different from murdered murderer father.”

“Right. Didn’t we say we’d move away from talking about death?”

“Yeah, but then you went and put yourself back on that hazard of a ladder, so…”

“If I fall, you’ll catch me,” Veronica replied confidently. Logan shouldn’t have still be surprised after all these years, but hearing the trust in her voice and in her words still thrilled him.

“What if I want that life insurance cheque?”

“I’d say pry it off my dead body, but given as that’s the point, I guess I’ll just have to hang on.”

“Can we call the kids after you’re done? They should be done with their nap now.”

“You want to make sure they remember their mother when she’s gone, that’s sweet,” she smiled, saccharine, tilting her head to the side as she looked down at him.

“Better call them _before_ the trip to emergency room. It’s just a question of practicality.”

“Or a visit to the morgue, which is even more cumbersome.”

“Precisely.”

“Yes, we can call the kids after that. Then we can decorate the tree.”

“Don’t forget you promised Charlie you’d let him hang his decoration.”

“I wouldn’t dare. He’ll probably remind me when we call anyway. There,” she declared. “All done.”

Logan held out his hand for her as she climbed down the ladder and kissed her cheek. “Let’s turn it on,” he said giddily, following the extension cord.

Veronica laughed. “ _Now_ who’s the one obsessed with Christmas decorations?”

“Just appreciating all your hard work, bobcat.”

It took a lot of plugging things in and out at various locations along the lights, a lot of untwisting and some toying with the controller for them to realize that the problem was the ice coating the terminal. They had to use the hairdryer, and _finally_ , the lights turned on.

“It’s beautiful,” Logan whispered in Veronica’s hair, hugging her to his side.

“Think they’ll like it?”

“They’ll go crazy.”

“Good. Hot chocolate?” she suggested.

“I’ll go make it while you set up the call and spend ten minutes explaining to your dad how to turn on his camera.”

Veronica laughed and followed him inside.

When Logan walked into the living room where Veronica was sitting, laptop propped on her lap, and handed her one of the mugs he was holding, Keith exclaimed, “Ah, there is our resident lumberjack!”

Logan gave his wife a side eye, who shrugged innocently as the kids laughed on the other side. He ducked his head to have a better view of them as he waved at them.

“Hi, daddy!”

“Hi, baby. How are you? Are you watching Grandpa and your sister okay?”

The little boy gave a long, important nod.

“And are you helping Grandpa?”

Charlie nodded again, a proud smile on his face.

“Mommy misses you,” Veronica took over, and Logan chuckled inwardly. She may act like an unshakeable badass, but she was totally helpless when it came to her children.

“We all miss you too,” Keith assured.

When the call was over, Logan motioned towards the now unfurled tree. “Ready to tackle that?”

Veronica rested her head on his shoulder and ran a hand up his shirt. “What if I tackle _you_ now, and that later?”

“I can most definitely agree to that.”

Veronica grinned wickedly and moved to straddle his lap. They had all night to find a time window to decorate the tree.


	7. All I Want For Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica is fresh off a breakup, Logan is bored, one loves Christmas music, the other doesn't, but the walls in the apartment building are thin, so that might cause some problems.
> 
> New York AU in which Logan and Veronica are neighbours who don't know each other.
> 
> Title taken from the Mariah Carey song

Logan Echolls was a simple man. He hated his father, felt okay about his job, and loved the peace and quiet his recent move had offered. He’d been in New York for over two years now, and in this apartment since July. His job was philanthropic, mostly business meetings, and he very well could have done it from the Southern California of his childhood. But it had been a good enough reason to move across the country, away from his family and whoever else from his past still wanted to talk to him, so he’d taken it. He’d adapted to life in New York quickly, but one thing he still couldn’t get over was the eagerness some exhibited for Christmas to come. He liked Christmas, he wasn’t by any means the Grinch, and he even usually bought a small Christmas tree to decorate his apartment. But New York department stores started playing Christmas music as soon as December 1st rolled around, like clockwork, the lobby of his apartment building was decorated ridiculously lavishly, and Costco stores started their Christmas makeover before Halloween was even gone. Logan was a firm believer in absolutely nothing Christmas related before Thanksgiving, no shopping before December, and no decorations until a week or two before Christmas Day.

Apparently, his neighbours all had different ideas, because it was December 3rd and already they all had wreaths on their doors or colourful lights he could see from the outside windows. It seemed as though the previous day’s snowfall had kicked everyone into full White Christmas mode, like they needed the weatherly reminder that festive season was upon them.

He wiped his boots upon entering the building, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck as he made his way to the stairs. He never took the elevator, because it was broken half the time and he was only on the second floor anyway. He started smelling gingerbread cookies a few steps up, a sure sign that Mrs. Whitson from apartment 1C had started her yearly Christmas cookie marathon – it was his first holiday season in the building, but he’d heard all about it from other residents – but what came to him next stopped him dead in his tracks. No. Freaking. Way. Christmas music. Too early, way too early. And especially at that volume, geez. Who was blasting music that loud at 8PM? Surely the young parents from 2D would complain about that, so he assumed it would all be solved soon.

Except it wasn’t. By 10PM, he could still hear very distinctly Christmas tune after Christmas tune, and it didn’t look like it was going to stop soon. It was already the third time he heard Jingle Bell Rock, and he was itching to shout that, no, it was _not_ the right time to rock the night away. But he didn’t shout because if the blaring music wasn’t waking up the baby next doors, his screaming surely would, and he’d had to deal with the parents once before. It wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat. There was just a way those two had to make him feel like he was a toddler misbehaving, even if they were around his own age and should not have that kind of power over him.

But damn it, the music was getting on his nerves. He sighed, deciding he’d only get up if the volume got higher or if the whole thing was still going on at 11, which would just be obscene and disrespectful. He looked back down at the papers he had to go over before the next day and he was just about to move on to the next one on his pile when he heard the sickening opening notes of Santa Baby again. He groaned. There was something wrong with that song, and something wrong with anyone who didn’t think there was something wrong with the song. No matter what angle you looked at it, the song was _awkward_.

 _If she starts playing All I Want For Christmas Is You next, I will kill someone_.

He’d decided the Christmas music enthusiast was a woman, because no one else could possibly enjoy Santa Baby more than once a night. And if he was being stereotypical and sexist, then he didn’t frankly care, since he was reading over donations for a Women’s Shelter.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas…” he heard through the walls and threw his paper down. That was it, he had to find who was blasting fucking Christmas music at fucking 10:15PM on fucking December 3rd. If the parents from 2D weren’t doing anything about it, then he was.

He walked out to the hallway, trying to decide where the music was coming from. He climbed to the third floor, and it was definitely louder there, so he walked slowly in front of each of the doors, hesitant to knock on a door to call out the wrong person. But the walls were thin, damn it, and it was just. Too. Early. For. Christmas. Music.

He settled for 3A, before it occurred to him who lived there. The short blonde, lawyer or something, always no-nonsense and matter-of-fact, kind of hot, didn’t let anyone get away with anything at the building meetings. Huh. That didn’t sound right, but he knocked anyway when Mariah Carey launched into another iteration of the iconic chorus. At the very least, she’d tell him if she knew who was playing the damn music.

Veronica was having a bad day. There was no other way to put it, although maybe others would go as far as to say she was having a horrible day, or even a spectacularly awful day. But these people weren’t Veronica Mars and they got ruffled by the most minute things.

Okay, so, sure, being dumped by her boyfriend of three years right before Christmas wasn’t a minute thing. It was at the very least inconvenient and at most heartbreaking and lifechanging. Inconvenient because she still had her favourite t-shirt at his place and he had his smelly laundry at hers. Heartbreaking probably because she should have been in love with him by now. Lifechanging because, well, now she wouldn’t have anyone with whom to spend Christmas, and because most of her friends were his to begin with. But a part of her felt free. No more Piz putting her cutlery in the wrong drawers, no more Piz dragging her to some mediocre band’s concert he’d stop liking as soon as they became cool, no more Piz breathlessly asking her if it felt good when it really just didn’t. No more Piz telling her what decorations she could and couldn’t use in her tree, citing some weird Christmas tree version of feng shui white people had clearly come up with. No more Piz restricting Christmas songs, because guess what, _Piz_? Veronica loved Christmas songs, she would have been playing them all year if she could, and she didn’t care that Last Christmas was overplayed, it was still a goddamn banger.

So when she got home that night, exhausted by her workday, she connected her phone to the speakers and shuffled her Christmas playlist before hitting play with a satisfied smile. There. Piz would absolutely hate it, she thought as she switched around some ornaments in her tree because it didn’t matter that you shouldn’t put two mice ornaments next to one another for luck or whatever because it was freaking Mickey and Minnie Mouse and she was going to have them side by side if it brought a freaking tsunami to her apartment. Piz could suck it, he could enjoy his perfect emotionless Christmas tree – Christmas bonsai, actually, and god shouldn’t that sheer fact have been enough of a sign? – listening to obscure bands that were only hip because they played in a basement pub and the lead singer wrote all their songs and they _clearly weren’t doing it for the ladies to throw themselves at them, you know?_ Ugh. Good riddance. He’d buy stupidly expensive brandy or something, which he didn’t have the taste buds or expertise (or, frankly, the budget) to enjoy and feel all smug because _he_ had ended the relationship. Like that somehow made him more of a man, like he won the relationship.

There were some good things about Piz, she reasoned, or she wouldn’t have stayed with him three whole years. She would have been the one to break things off. But right then, she couldn’t find any, so she turned up the volume of her speakers and hummed along, pouring herself a glass of cheap wine.

She could start making ingredient lists for her holiday cookies the next day, she thought, and she could listen to Christmas music every damn day of the month if she pleased, and she could wear her Santa hat around the apartment. And she could throw on a cheesy holiday movie tonight, with the caramel popcorn Piz hated. And she could scratch his name off her holiday shopping list, which was just as well, because he only liked things that were tasteful and whatnot, but also unique and hip. She rolled her eyes and took a swig of wine. Piz could go fuck himself. Or he could go fuck another girl, which was more or less what she’d gathered to be his main reason to break up with her. Poor girl, Veronica thought, and she finished her glass with a flourish at that thought.

She swayed a little as she got up from her couch to pour herself another glass, so she grabbed the caramel popcorn. To soak up the wine, because she didn’t feel like slowing down. The first real breakup of her twenties! She had to indulge.

She debated turning the music off to start a movie, but decided to save it for another time. She was going to enjoy her music in all its cheesiness and cliché and dance around in her living room, glass in hand, because she could and Piz wouldn’t make fun of her for it. One would think she meant that in a fun, playful manner. She wished. No, Piz actually, truly thought it was ridiculous and embarrassing when Veronica danced freely like that. As if anyone could see them from inside her apartment. As if anyone but him would see her roughed up hair. Maybe it complexed him that her wild dancing around messed up her hair more than a night of sex with him did. Who freaking knew.

All she knew was she was shaking her ass to Santa Baby, even if the song made her uncomfortable when she listened too closely to the lyrics, and, huh, she was pretty sure it wasn’t the first time tonight she’d heard that one. She must have circled through her playlist already. Oh, well. That sure wasn’t going to stop her from continuing.

Just as she was recuperating from a risky move for her glass – “I just wanna see my baby/ Standing right outside my door,” she was mouthing along with Mariah Carey – she heard a knock on _her_ door. She looked at the time quickly on her phone and gasped. Maybe it was a bit late to still have her volume so high. It was probably that asshole from 2D, who always looked at her ass when his wife was taking care of their baby. Although this time she was probably the one being an asshole, with her music blaring. Or maybe it was something else entirely, so she put her glass down on her counter and walked to open the door.

Standing there, hands in his pockets, was the hot guy from 2A. That was what her friend Mac had dubbed him once when she’d been over, right after he’d moved in, and the name had stuck. He really _was_ hot, not that Veronica had ever checked him out when they were both at the laundry room or anything.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly, trying not to sound breathless but failing spectacularly, and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.

Said hair, originally in a messy bun, was now in a messy… probably just in a mess. Well, look at that, Piz was right, someone _did_ see her with her crazy dance hair. And of course it had to be the hot guy from apartment 2A.

“Are you the one playing the music?” he asked carefully, like he didn’t want to hurt her feelings or something.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late. I’ll turn it down,” she grimaced.

He smirked, and why the hell was he smirking? Then he nodded, a quick, curt nod. “Is this, ah, going to be a frequent occurrence throughout the month?”

“Most likely,” she replied defensively.

“So will I have to come up here every day, or…?”

The smirk was back, and was he flirting? What in the world was up with that smirk?

She shrugged. “You might.”

“I’m surprised the couple from 2D didn’t come here first.”

“Honestly, I expected you to be that idiot.”

He laughed. “Idiot? Because he’s a bit intense when it comes to his baby’s sleeping habits?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Idiot because he’s always ogling other women’s ass and/or boobs when his wife’s not looking.”

“Can’t say I noticed.”

“Yeah, well. It’s easier not to notice when you’re not the one being ogled.”

“Right. Well, good night.”

She gave a tight smile in return and closed the door behind him, then walked to the speakers to turn the volume down.

Logan walked back to his apartment, puzzled by his conversation with the blonde from 3A. He should have asked her name, he told himself. He would have, too, but she had been so hard to read, so hard to predict, and he didn’t know exactly what had transpired. She’d been apologetic at first, understanding. And he was fairly certain she’d flirted back, when he’d laid on the charm. Then she’d been cold again, exactly like he’d have expected her to be before finding out she was a Christmas music aficionado and seeing her with her hair like that… If he already thought she was hot before, that definitely did things to him he didn’t want to think about. He’d seen her around several times in the months since he’d moved in, mostly at general meetings for all residents, sometimes at the laundry room on the first floor. Fleetingly in the halls, usually alone, but sometimes with her blue-haired friend or her dopey-haired… boyfriend? Friend? It was hard to tell, really, and besides Logan didn’t especially care, he’d just noticed. He’d been over three times the past week. It looked like a boyfriend to Logan, but again, it wasn’t like he really cared about the blonde from 3A or her (boy)friend. Or her relationship status, or how come she always looked like she owned the room, no matter the room.

All he cared about was that she’d turned her music down and now he would spend the rest of his evening in blissful silence, far from ridiculously early reminders of the season that was approaching.

Still, he wondered, tapping his pen on the side of the paper he was perusing again, why was she suddenly all out on Christmas music and wild hair? Every other time he’d seen her, no matter the time of day or the day of the week, she was in those serious looking grey or black or navy blue pantsuits, usually in heels, her hair straight and sleek. Was she just _that_ into Christmas that it made her lose all inhibitions? After all, it was possible. Or something unusual had happened. Which wasn’t Logan’s business, and he didn’t care, anyway. Hot Christmas blonde from apartment 3A could do whatever she well pleased. As long as her music didn’t permeate through the thin walls. (Or his ceiling? She was right above him, so it would make sense he’d hear her more than others in his floor, through there.)

When he went to sleep later that night, he was determined not to give her any more thought.

Coming home the next day, Veronica did the same thing she’d done the previous day: kicked off her boots, untied her hair, changed out of her clothes, plugged in her phone and started her Christmas music playlist. She’d bought and downloaded a few other songs during her lunch break to add to the mix, because she really had been missing out on new releases during her years with Piz (Taylor Swift had written a Christmas song?!), and hadn’t wanted to expand her collection of classics if she wasn’t going to be listening anyway (she didn’t have _any_ Elvis Presley songs downloaded, practically a crime).

She looked at the unfinished bottle of leftover wine from the previous night in her fridge, and seriously considered popping the cork again, but decided against it. Her temples had still been buzzing at work this morning, and she didn’t want to worsen it, even if Thursday nights were usually date nights with Piz, and now she wasn’t with Piz and okay, maybe she was a _little_ sad he’d left because at least he was _something_. He was steady and relatively safe and her dad liked him. But even after 3 years together, she’d never moved in with him, which probably said a lot more about the state of their relationship than she cared to admit. She was grateful for it now, it made it all easier, but she wondered if maybe it should have raised a flag. If she should have asked herself if there was something off in the relationship if she didn’t even want to move in with him after three goddamn years.

People her age moved in with significant others all the time. Wallace had moved in with Jackie, and Mac had moved out of Branson’s, and Parker had moved in with what’s-his-face she’d met in yoga class and people _moved_ , it was normal. Stupid hot guy from 2A had probably been moving out of a girlfriend’s place when he’d moved in to the building.

She wondered if _she_ should have been moving out of her apartment, to turn the page completely. New year soon, new relationship – with herself only – and new Veronica, so a new apartment would have been timely. But she liked this apartment and its thin walls and ugly wallpaper and it wasn’t like Piz had really left a mark in it during his stay anyway.

She sighed and plopped down on her couch, turning up the music to drown her thoughts. One thing at a time. Rushing into anything would be a rash, and likely bad, decision. She could cut her hair or – or nothing, she could wait before making big decisions, Jesus. She’d lost an ineffective sex toy and condescending presence, not a limb.

She was really reconsidering the wine sitting in her fridge when she heard a knock on her door. She assumed it would be the laptop sleeve she’d ordered from Amazon a few days previously, and opened without thinking.

“You again,” she said flatly, surprised to see the hot guy from 2A. It was slightly earlier than yesterday. And her music wasn’t as loud, she’d been careful setting it up. Then she realized she’d cranked it up without thinking a few minutes earlier and realized maybe it _was_ a bit loud.

“You did say it would be a frequent occurrence,” her interlocutor noted, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Right. I’ll, uh. I’ll turn it back down.”

“Thanks,” he simply said, and turned on his heel to leave.

About halfway down the hall, he spun around and took a few steps back towards her door, in which she was still standing, because of… reasons, or whatever. She wasn’t looking at his back muscles or anything. Just breathing in the fresh air of the hallway.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The question surprised her, and she didn’t answer for a beat, debating whether to give him a fake name just to see if he’d believe her. He mistook her confusion for refusal, and mumbled, “Never mind.”

She took a step outside, and called softly, “Veronica. Veronica Mars.”

He smiled. “Well, hello, Veronica Mars. I’m Logan. Logan Echolls.”

She smiled back, nodded once. “Hi, Logan.”

He gave her a small wave, turned again with a swing in his step, and walked back downstairs to his apartment, she assumed. She stood there a second more, but he didn’t seem to have any follow-up questions, so she let herself back into her apartment.

Logan. It was a nice name. It sure rolled on the tongue better than “hot guy from apartment 2A,” at any rate.

The next day, Veronica turned up her music at 10PM, with absolutely no ulterior motive, thank you very much. Logan came up at 10:15, like the previous days, and she turned her music back down.

The fourth day, he asked her why she was playing Christmas music so much. She said she just liked the holidays and the accompanying music. He seemed to see right through her evasive response, the jackass.

The sixth day, she gave him the real reason, unprompted. He raised an eyebrow and his amused smirk was back. When she asked him, “What?”, he told her most people usually listened to depressing songs after a breakup, not Christmas ones, or got drunk or keyed their ex’s car. It was her turn to raise her eyebrows and she asked what told him she hadn’t already done that, which rendered him positively gleeful.

The seventh day, he told her he’d seen the perv from 2D indeed ogling another woman while his wife was looking after the baby.

The eighth day he apologized, saying he shouldn’t have waited until he saw it himself to believe her and take back his remarks.

The twelfth day, she rushed to her apartment after a late night at work, glancing at her watch and seeing it was already ten past ten when she made it into the building. She wouldn’t have time to turn up the music before Logan got there, and then they’d both have to make up excuses. She ran into him in the staircase and he grinned sheepishly.

“Long day at work?”

She nodded, looking for her keys in her purse. “I didn’t even turn the music on yet,” she teased him with a smile.

He blushed and admitted he hadn’t actually heard it from his apartment since the fourth day.

“Simple curtesy to those in the same landing as you, who I’m sure can hear it all better than me,” he justified.

She invited him in her apartment for a drink and he said yes.

The thirteenth day, she watched a movie, so the music wasn’t playing, but, like clockwork, Logan was back at 10:15. He watched the end of her movie with her, rolling his eyes at the cheesy storyline, but she knew he’d enjoyed himself.

The sixteenth day, she walked down to Logan’s apartment around 8, and knocked on his door hesitantly. What if she’d messed up and he wasn’t actually living in 2A? She’d associated him to that apartment for months but maybe she’d been wrong.

He opened the door, surprised to see her, but his face instantly softened into a smile as he leaned against the doorway.

“Hey,” he greeted her, and Veronica felt her insides do a somersault.

“I just wanted to say that I’m… I’m going out, tonight. So, you know, any music you hear through the walls… it’s not me.”

In other words, _I won’t be there, so if I don’t answer the door, it’s nothing against you, and I’d really rather just have another conversation with you but my friends want to go out_.

“Duly noted. With Christmas approaching, it’ll be a challenge to find who it is. I’m pretty sure by now even the ones who haven’t been recently dumped have started listening to Christmas songs. Maybe I’ll have to knock on a lot of doors.”

“Yeah,” she replied, and for some reason she felt her throat constrict at the thought of him having a doorway conversation with another one of their neighbours more than at the mention of the fact that she’d recently been dumped.

He frowned, leaning in towards her slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She shook her head, pasting a smile on her face. “Yeah, all good. I… I better go, my friends are waiting for me.”

“I thought you were going on a date.”

“Huh? No. I just said I was going out.”

“I misunderstood.”

“I… guess you did?”

He nodded. She turned to leave, giving him a tilt of her head as salute.

“Veronica?”

She turned around. “Yeah?”

“Do you think _I_ could take you out sometime?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

She was about to leave again, but she walked back to his door and planted herself in front of him. He didn’t say anything, his eyes exploring her face, looking for something, anything, waiting for her to make her move.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” Veronica said.

“Okay,” Logan nodded.

Grab his face, don’t grab his face? _God, Veronica, just kiss him, don’t think about it_.

She went for it, ghosting her fingers over his cheeks, lifting on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. He slid his arms around her waist, not pulling her closer or pushing her away, just steadying her, while his lips explored hers. He tasted like candy cane and smelled like aftershave, and how was the smell of his aftershave still present at that time of day? It didn’t matter because his lips were soft and sweet and his hands were warm, and she really wished she was staying in instead of joining Mac and Wallace and Parker.

She pulled away, taking in the twinkle in his eyes, the mischief that told her he’d be up for more of that later, and smiled cockily.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, trying to sound natural.

“What time are you coming back tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“It’ll probably be late.”

“Okay.”

“Too late to come say hi.”

“Mhm-hmm,” he said, like he understood, but his demeanour didn’t seem to match the words being said.

“I’ll come say hi.”

“Please do.”

“See you tonight, then.”

Logan smiled at her, and she felt her heart soar as she pulled her gloves on and walked down the stairs, noticing his gaze was still following her as she pushed the door open and the biting wind hit her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I had to sneak in a Taylor Swift reference, since today is her birthday


	8. Ding Dong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica's car breaks down as she's driving home for Christmas, in the middle of a neighbourhood she doesn't know.
> 
> Post-season 3, non movie compliant.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, nooooo,” Veronica moaned, hitting her steering wheel as her car came to a complete stop.

Great. Just great. She was due at her father’s in half an hour, she was already running late, and now her car had broken down. Fan-fucking-tastic.

If she’d started regretting driving down from Stanford instead of flying in when she’d hit Los Angeles traffic, she really, really was regretting it now. Her car had been with her for over three years, and she’d never had problems with her trusty Saturn at all. Sure, she didn’t always do all the necessary checkups, but like most other college students, she didn’t always have the money to put towards keeping her car up and running. She realized now she should have invested earlier because now she’d have to call her dad, and a tow truck, and the towing itself was already going to cost her more than she could afford, never mind all the repairs she’d probably also have to pay for.

As if it wasn’t already a crappy enough year. It was her last year at Stanford, and while school itself was great, she hadn’t really been making any friends, so it had gotten lonely, especially knowing how much her old friends still hung out together – although it _was_ better not running into Piz. He and Wallace were still roommates, like they’d been since freshman year, and were often out and about together. She couldn’t really blame Wallace for that, but visiting her best friend did become more stress-inducing when he was living with her ex. It wasn’t like Piz and her had ended on bad terms, they’d barely ended on _any_ terms. The only reason they’d stayed together through the summer was because Veronica didn’t have time to schedule a breakup, but the time apart did not cost her in the least. It had been easy and expected, when they’d broken up. Part of her thought it was a nice change of pace from some of her previous breakups – explosive, heart-wrenching, devastating, and that was just with one person – but part of her ached for the fight, ached to feel something about it all. To care. She hadn’t truly cared, not really, about ending (or starting) any relationship since then, either. She’d dated a few guys in Stanford, but none for more than a few weeks, and none of which she could honestly say she missed.

On top of her failed social life, she was supposed to meet her father’s new girlfriend this Christmas. They’d been together for six months – no, seven – and apparently, it was pretty serious. Veronica had never met her, only briefly heard her voice on the phone when she answered it because her father was elsewhere, and she seemed nice. She seemed normal, seemed to have a healthy life, exactly the kind of person her father needed, exactly the kind of person he wished she was also dating. Veronica had spent the last two years and a half chasing normalcy, and she didn’t know if she was jealous her father had found it and she hadn’t, or bitter that she had to admit to herself she wasn’t even trying that hard, because the idea bored the shit out of her. But boring was good. Boring kept her out of danger, kept others out of danger, got her home for Christmas with her dad instead of watching Aaron Echolls get stabbed at his party or learning that Meg Manning gave birth and subsequently died.

And on top of all _that_ , her phone battery had died two hours into her road trip, so she had no means to call her father to warn him she’d be late, or to call someone to come get her.

So, really, her car couldn’t have chosen a worse day to break down and finally ruin her Christmas Eve. It was dark, it was cold without her car’s heater, and she was in an area of town she didn’t know very well because it had only very recently been built. It looked like an extension of the ’09 zip code, but maybe slightly more homey, friendly, welcoming. Slightly. The houses were still huge, gated, and posh. Those were the last people she wanted to go ask for help, sure she’d be turned down, or at least that her presence and broken-down car would be unwelcome, but she didn’t have much choice, so she took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, and stepped out of her car. At least she’d managed to steer it to the curb before it had sputtered and stopped, so she wasn’t parked in the middle of the road.

She looked around before crossing the street in quick strides, and walked up to the house across from which she’d broken down. The gate was open, which was surprising, but there was a car in the driveway so she knew the owners were home and not off at a Christmas dinner elsewhere. She walked up to the house, hoping the open gate didn’t mean there was a sniper waiting for any intruders instead or some other crazy security system the wealthy had managed to cook up.

She jogged up the few steps and rang the doorbell. _Ding dong_ , she heard from inside, the muffled ring reaching her ears.

As the door swung open, so did her jaw, the “Hi, sorry to bother you, my car broke down, can I please use your phone?” she’d planned dying on her lips, vanishing like all thoughts previously in her mind.

At least her interlocutor looked as shocked as she was. But honestly, she really shouldn’t have believed so wholeheartedly that her car breaking down was the last straw, the worst possible way to top off her Christmas Eve, because clearly she’d jinxed it. She definitely, definitely had jinxed it, because standing before her, all 6 feet of him, was Logan Echolls.

“Hi,” she eventually said, recovering the first part of her intended sentence after long seconds of shocked silence.

“Hi. Uh… what are you doing here?” Logan asked, hesitant.

“Right! Uh, my car broke down,” she said, motioning behind her in the general direction of her car, “and my phone’s dead. I was wondering if I could use yours?”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course, come on in,” he stammered, opening the door and stepping aside to let her in.

“So… you moved out of the Neptune Grand,” Veronica commented, and she thought that was just about the lamest thing anyone had ever said.

Logan snorted. “Yeah. Two years ago.”

“Oh.”

“Uh, you can use this phone.” He pointed inside a room that looked like an office. Well kept, even. Wow.

“Thanks. I won’t be long,” she assured, picking up the handset and dialing her father’s number first.

Logan leaned against the doorway, watching her silently.

“Hey, dad. It’s me.” She paused. “Yeah, I know, um, my phone’s dead.” Another pause. “I’m calling because my car broke down, so I’ll be late… No, I don’t know how long it’ll be. I’m calling the tow company right after this… Where? Oh, uh.” She looked up at Logan and gave a sorry smile. “I’m at Logan’s.”

He saw her close her eyes, bracing herself for whatever reply she would get. He imagined it couldn’t be good, given how much her father liked him. She breathed a sigh of relief, though, so her father mustn’t have focused on his presence.

“Mh-hm. Yeah, I’ll try to be there as soon as I can. No, you can start without me.” She sounded disappointed. “I just don’t know how long it’ll be, dad. I’m still there until New Year’s, we’ll make up the time. Yeah. Bye. Love you too.”

She hung up and dialed again. Logan didn’t move from his position, his eyes on her. If he moved, maybe it would all vanish. Maybe it would all have been a dream, the ghost of Christmas past visiting him or something. Although she’d never been with him for Christmas, except that one time with the poker game, but it didn’t really count. But now Veronica Mars was in his home office, using his phone, and she wasn’t even mad at him, disappointed in him, or ignoring him, which was a nice surprise. There was the opposite of that spectrum, too, that sounded much more enjoyable but wasn’t happening either, which was also surprising but a lot less. Although, with them, it was always one extreme or the other, so this peaceful middle ground was more surprising than any sane person would think it should be. But again, when had either of them ever been sane?

He was shaken out of his thoughts when Veronica put her hand on the receiver and mouthed, “What’s your address?”

He pushed himself off the frame and walked the two steps separating her from him, then held out his hand for the phone.

Veronica felt her breath accelerating, sensing Logan so near, and the brush of their fingers was still burning on her skin when he hung up.

“They’ll be there within the hour,” he told her, and she nodded.

“Thanks. For everything,” she said, gesturing to the phone.

“Yeah, sure. Anytime.”

She took a step backwards toward the door. “I’ll get our of your hair.”

Logan frowned. “You can stay while you wait for them. It’s pretty cold outside,” he shrugged.

“Oh. Thanks. I don’t want to butt into your Christmas plans, though.”

“I’ve got nothing more important to do in the next hour.”

She gave a little smile, simultaneously grateful and wishing she didn’t have to prolong the awkwardness.

“Do you want something to drink? Something to eat?” Logan asked suddenly.

“Oh, uh, no thanks. I’ve got a big dinner planned. Um, I could use a glass of water, though.”

“Coming right up.”

He pushed himself from the desk – seriously, was he always leaning against something? – and walked down the hallway, looking behind his shoulder to see that she was following him. It was a beautiful house, Veronica admired as he led her to the kitchen, peeking into the lavish living room and taking in the neatly organized cupboards. Logan seemed at ease, and the chic look of everything certainly fit with the style he’d grown up with, but it also didn’t feel like him to have such a neatly decorated home, she couldn’t imagine him picking out all of it, arranging the throw pillows and coordinating the colour of the accent wall. For the first time, it occurred to her that (a) it might not be Logan’s house, but she shut down that idea quickly, and that (b) he could be living here with someone else. For example, a girlfriend with a keen eye for interior design and refined taste.

“The place is really nice,” she offered.

“Is that surprise I sense, Mars?” Logan smirked, extending a glass towards her.

“Thanks. No, not surprise. Well, okay. Yes, surprise. But good surprise.” Mostly. “I didn’t know you were… interested in interior design.”

“Oh, I’m not. Not really.”

 _Here it comes_ , Veronica thought, and it vaguely registered that she shouldn’t have been so anxious about finding out if a boy she hadn’t dated in nearly 3 years had moved on (or, more accurately, moved in) with someone else, but she chose to ignore the tingling feeling in her stomach.

“I, uh…” He toyed with the cap of the water bottle he was holding, seemed nervous. _Can it really be that bad? Unless he’s dating Madison Sinclair or something, it can’t be that bad, surely?_ “I hired my mom’s interior designer. He designed most of this based on what she liked,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed but Veronica only felt relief. _That’s it? That’s nothing to be embarrassed about_.

“She always did have good taste.”

“Yeah. So, uh, how are you? How’s Stanford, I mean?”

Sure, okay, Stanford. Someone had told him about that, which wasn’t all that surprising. Probably Mac. She, in return, had received no information about him. She couldn’t really be mad about that, since she’d pretty clearly said that she wanted him out of her life, forever. _God, how melodramatic_. Like the rest of their time together, she supposed. And now she was standing in his kitchen, because she needed his help. Way too many of her relationships with others were based on that, she realized. Although, with Logan… it was based on a lot more than that, and they both knew it. And Veronica really didn’t need the Logan and Veronica, versions 1 through 358346, recap tonight.

“Stanford’s great. My classes are going great. Everything’s great.”

 _If I say “great” one more time, I swear I’ll punch myself_.

“How are you? How did…” she motioned around them, “ _this_ happen?”

“My humble abode? Ah, I moved out of the Grand at the end of the summer, found a temporary place near campus with Dick. Then I learned they were building here and… there I am. Seemed like a nice place, a nice neighbourhood, it’s not too far from Hearst. And I can actually stay here once I graduate.”

“What’s your major?” she asked, and cringed, because was that really what they were reduced to talking about?

Apparently, Logan had similar thoughts because he smirked mockingly, but answered her. “English.”

“English?” Logan nodded. “So you’re writing a lot?”

“Depends what you define as ‘a lot’, but I guess so. It’s a better outlet for… everything… than beating up mob members.”

Veronica wanted to laugh, but it felt inappropriate.

“I’m happy for you.” And she was. This Logan seemed to have pulled himself together, somehow. She felt a twinge of bitterness at the fact that he seemed to thrive so well without her, had blossomed while she was gone, while she was feeling so uncertain and insecure. She felt selfish to even think it, but she thought it anyway. This Logan… she’d barely reconnected with this Logan, but he seemed like someone her friends maybe wouldn’t hate this time around. Someone that maybe her father would approve of. But this Logan had been born when she’d left. If she stuck around, she’d plunge him right back down again, spiralling out of anyone’s control, including his own.

“What about you?” Logan asked her.

“Psychology.”

“Not criminology?” His eyes widened slightly, visibly taken aback.

“No, I… I went for a more traditional path. No chasing around people who want to kill me. Took your advice.”

“It certainly took you long enough,” he replied, but he didn’t seem mad about it. “I always did admire that in you, though. I can tell you now that it’s not in contrast with the safety message I’m trying to get through.”

Veronica snorted. “You admired a lot of non-admirable things.”

“Why non-admirable?” Logan asked, inching closer just a tiny bit. It was a centimetre, maybe even less, but Veronica felt it, felt the air get hotter, felt the tension rising. He looked genuinely curious, though, so she decided to answer him.

“In me?”

He nodded, moving another infinitesimal distance towards her, ramping up the temperature a few extra degrees.

“My stubborn streak. My uncanny inability to see through bullshit. My ability exonerating people who maybe didn’t deserve to be exonerated.”

He frowned. “You always did what you thought was right. Or what I asked you to do.”

She knew he was talking about Mercer, and it was her turn to shave off a miniscule amount of the distance separating them, her turn to propagate warmth she was maybe imagining after all.

“You were being a loyal friend.”

“To someone who didn’t deserve it.”

“Logan…”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve accepted it.” He shrugged, trying to smile. “He had everyone fooled, not just me. They all did.”

“Yeah.” Then, after a pause: “Your loyalty is one of the things I always admired about _you_.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re loyal to a fault.”

Was she pushing it? Veronica didn’t know if she was being blatantly obvious, waving a huge flag in front of him, asking if _she_ still had that loyalty, if she still mattered, if she was still someone to him after she’d shut him out, or if she was being way too cryptic and he’d never pick up the clues.

But she underestimated Logan’s ability to read her, like she’d forgotten over the last years that someone could know her so well. Logan took a small step in her direction, tiny. But it was bigger than the movements they’d made before.

“I’ve missed you,” Veronica whispered. “I know it’s not fair for me to say it, because I’m the one who pushed you away, but…”

“It’s okay. Look, I’m not going to lie, it _wasn’t_ okay at first. I was a mess.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

“But I’m okay, Veronica. You didn’t break me.”

“But what if I do?”

“Break me?” She nodded. “You won’t. And I know,” he continued before she could say anything, “because you…” he had a small laugh, “you were there for me when I _did_ break.”

Veronica saw him in a flash, at the Sunset Regent, breaking down in her arms once Trina walked away. Stumbling on her doorstep, after the night on the bridge. And then on the roof of the Neptune Grand Hotel, holding her while she sobbed, in the Hearst parking lot, clutching a shaved strand of hair. She took a step towards him, too.

“That’s so cheesy.”

“Eh, you know me. Also, English major.”

She chuckled, but something in her wanted to cry.

“So, uh, no Stanford boyfriend waiting in the car, ready to meet your father?”

“No. You, no interior designer girlfriend leaving her mark all over your house?”

“I do have some girls’ clothes in a drawer upstairs,” he said seriously, and she blanched. He laughed warmly. “You never came back for them. I would’ve thrown them away, but… you know.”

She hit his chest as they both took another step forward. “You’re mean.”

“Just testing the waters.”

“Testing what waters?” she asked, but she was pretty sure she knew.

He didn’t answer, instead raising his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He was so close now, and she stopped breathing when he kept his hand there. His eyes were questioning, searching hers, and when she didn’t move, not trusting herself to say something that would ruin the moment, he pressed his lips gently to hers.

But gently was not how they did it. Gently was not epic, was not the all-encompassing storm she always felt when it came to Logan. So she folded herself around him, running her hands up his back and into his hair, as his tongue teased the commissure of her lips, waiting to be let inside. She welcomed him, messing up his hair in an attempt to keep her grip on him, as he kept his hold of her cheek, soft and tender. Every one of his actions felt measured, pondered, careful, loving, yet passionate, from his fingers tracing their way up her side to his spinning them around and lifting her on the kitchen counter, his mouth never leaving hers. She hadn’t been kissed like that in… in a long, long time, and it occurred to her that of course the last time she’d felt so engrossed into a kiss, it had been with Logan. Veronica panted, rested her forehead down on Logan’s, and closed her eyes.

“You okay down there?” she asked, her labored breath punctuating her words.

He gave a short, breathless laugh. “More than okay.”

And he kissed her again, this time desperate, because every previous time it had ended in utter chaos, it had blown up in their faces, and he wanted to have this, to have her, another time, another day, another minute. Anything she’d give, he’d take it and devour it, greedily taking all of her fully. He had to hang on now, because if it had ended so brutally and painfully every single time before, it would this time, too, and maybe it was just a Christmas miracle that had brought her there to him, but if it was the case, he wanted to get the entire miracle. And so far she was living up to it, sucking on his bottom lip and moaning into his mouth, and maybe, maybe if it ended it wouldn’t be so bad because he was used to it now. It was all going to crash, it was all going to end, it was all going to be gone before he had time to brace himself, except, except, except… except if they didn’t let it end. Except if he breathed her name against her lips, ran his nose along hers and settled his hands around her waist, and told her everything. Everything. Why he was terrified, why he couldn’t bear to have her leave again, why he hadn’t ever been able to maintain a relationship since her, why he wanted to believe in goddamn Christmas miracles now.

She kissed his chin, his jaw. “Yes?” she breathed out, and he’d forgotten he’d even said her name.

“We need to talk.”

“Okay.”

Okay? Veronica was actually agreeing to a talk? She opened her eyes fully, looking into his properly.

“I know, Logan. I know this isn’t going to magically work. You’re you, and I’m me, and we’re a mess. And this…” She gestured between them, neither of them looking at her hands, “won’t be fixed by a kiss and make up scenario like we pushed every time before. But I miss you…” Her voice was strained at the end.

“I miss you, so much,” Logan murmured.

“This is salvageable, right?”

“Yes,” he assured her, even if he had no idea. It had to be, he had to try.

Veronica took his face between her hands again and kissed him, light, hopeful, relieved. Merry fucking Christmas, Logan. He was just slipping his thumb into the cup of her bra when the phone rang, and he groaned.

“Is it important?” Veronica whispered in his neck, latching her lips onto an area she very much knew was ridiculously sensitive.

He hissed at the contact, wanting to say that no, it wasn’t important at all, and could she please raise her arms so he could slip her shirt off, but instead, he took a step back. “It’s probably about your car.”

“Shit, that.”

“Yeah, that. What brought you here in the first place.”

Veronica hopped off the counter and followed him to the phone, leaning her head on his chest when he picked up. Logan pulled her to him and smiled. This was natural, this was where she belonged. No one fit into that spot properly but her.

“Hello?”

The tow company was saying they would be later than they thought, at least another hour. It was a busy night, and all of that. He didn’t need to relay the information to Veronica, who was listening to everything. She called her dad, letting him know it would be a while before she made it to dinner.

“I’ll stay here and wait for them to arrive. There’s not really anything else to do,” she said into the phone, and Logan grinned. He could think of _many_ things to do, none of which involved her leaving his house.

“Do you want me to drive you to your dad’s?” he offered nonetheless.

“It’s really better if I stay here, near the car,” Veronica replied, matching his grin. Then she suddenly seemed to realize, “Hey, don’t you, like… have plans for Christmas Eve? I just walked in here and ruined them all.”

“You _improved_ them all. I didn’t have plans besides eating dinner. That was the extent of it.”

“Alone?” she asked, her voice small.

“Veronica, it’s fine. Dick’s away on a trip to Aspen… I didn’t feel like going. And I don’t exactly have family who’d spend Christmas with me.”

“I’d spend Christmas with you,” she said, hanging on to him, flinging her arms around his neck. “You know, if I didn’t have to be at my dad’s. Hey, come with me.”

He laughed, kissed her cheek. “I don’t think so. That sounds like a disaster in the making.”

Veronica hummed. “Do we have to talk _now_?”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Logan purred against her skin, and chills ran down Veronica’s spine when he repositioned his lips on her clavicle.

She moaned, bucking her hips towards him and throwing her head back to give him space. “Logan…”

He pushed her bra strap away with his _teeth_ , for crying out loud, and she gasped his name again, just needed him right then. She started fumbling with his shirt, with his belt, couldn’t focus her hands, just needed all of it off, off, off, and he helped her along, guiding her hands and undoing clasps and buttons and zippers himself. He propped her up on the couch, kissing up her stomach and taking her shirt up and away with him. She couldn’t remember any notion of time – had she really just seen him for the first time in years less than an hour ago? – or space – where the hell were they, again, and why did she not know this décor? – or reality – was she dreaming, because that was one hell of a dream? – and let herself get lost into the moment with Logan, the only solid thing there was in her world in that instant.

He dropped her off at her father’s around 11PM, her car having been taken away to the ‘shop when the tow truck finally arrived. She kissed his lips lightly before getting out of his car, the promise of a visit tomorrow to talk, really talk, lingering in the air. She picked up her bags from his trunk, firmly turned down his help, and waved at him when she reached the door, taking in the beautiful wreath framed by twinkling lights. When her father opened the door and wrapped her into a hug, she forgot momentarily about Logan, and when she turned back around before closing the door behind her, he was gone.

But he’d be there tomorrow, and the day after, and it would probably be absolutely awful to try to keep up a relationship with him at Hearst and her at Stanford, but for once she wasn’t as scared.

“So, how come you were at Logan’s?”

“Just luck?”

“Christmas luck?”

“Probably.”

“Be careful, honey, okay?”

“I am,” she assured, and for one of the first times in her life, she felt that she wasn’t even lying when she said the words.


	9. Merry Christmas from the Pi Sigs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica gets dragged into a fraternity Christmas party by her friends, and quickly finds there's someone she'd rather avoid also in attendance.
> 
> College AU in which Logan and Veronica both attend Hearst but don't know each other (yet).

“Just because I’m single, doesn’t mean I want to mingle,” Veronica said firmly as she pinned the last of Mac’s hair in place.

“Of course you do!” Parker replied from her spot in front of the mirror. “You just don’t know it yet.”

“I’m pretty sure that means I don’t want to.”

Parker waved her hand as if to dismiss the idea as she passed Veronica to go fetch her lip gloss.

“Please, Veronica. You said you’d come,” Mac pleaded.

“I said I would hang out with you guys tonight. I never said yes to the Pi Sig Christmas party. All Pi Sigs hate me, for one, and their parties suck. I’m like 99% sure there won’t be anything remotely Christmassy at this party.”

“It’s more to celebrate the end of finals than to actually celebrate Christmas,” Parker rationalized, puckering her lips in the mirror.

“So I can expect exam copies with C’s and D’s all around the frat house?”

“Come on, Veronica. As if any of them is smart enough to get a C,” Mac teased, slipping her shoes on.

“Of course. However will they keep partying like it’s 1999 if they manage to graduate?” Veronica replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically.

“Exactly. Thankfully, we’re not asking you to team up with them for a project, but to _party_ with them. Which is, like, their only skill. It’s a safe bet,” Parker shrugged.

“Please, Veronica?” Mac repeated, pleading with her eyes as well as her words.

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll be your designated driver. But I reserve the right to taser insistent drunks, to throw beers in people’s face and to carry you away if you’re talking to someone that looks sketchy,” she enumerated, counting on her fingers and looking at her friends pointedly.

“Yes! I promise you’re allowed,” Mac agreed.

Parker was slightly more reluctant. “Keep the tasing to a minimum, _please_. I don’t want a repeat of the Halloween party.”

Veronica shrugged, making no concessions. So, she’d tased two guys at the Halloween party and the police had shown up and arrested her for using a weapon she wasn’t supposed to have. Big deal. Sheriff Lamb hated dealing with her, so he’d let her go. And they hadn’t even confiscated the taser.

“Ready to go?” she asked the girls instead.

“Don’t you want to dress up?” Parker asked.

“Absolutely not.”

Mac and Parker looked at each other, and Mac shrugged, knowing there wasn’t anything they could do to change Veronica’s mind anyway.

As Veronica drove the short distance between Mac and Parker’s dorm and the Pi Sigma Sigma fraternity house, she contemplated how long she could stay at the party without either of her friends complaining the night was still young when she asked to leave. She’d been to several Pi Sig parties over her time at Hearst, and it was mostly their fault – Veronica had been dragged to all kinds of parties (as backup, or to loosen her up, there was always some excuse) during all of freshman year, and apparently that was going to be continuing into sophomore year. She enjoyed both Mac and Parker’s company – Mac had been her friend since high school, and Mac’s roommate Parker had become a quick friend of theirs – so she indulged them from time to time, as long as they didn’t leave her alone once they got to the party.

She couldn’t find parking close to the Pi Sig house because of the dozens of cars already parked (awfully, for most of them) along the street, some directly below “no parking” signs. She sighed as she grabbed her jacket to get out of the car. By the time they arrived to the party, Veronica noted that it would have been just as fast to walk there instead of having her drive, but Parker thanked her with an exuberant kiss on the cheek for the lift and Mac gave her a grateful squeeze of the hand instead, saying walking all the way in her stupid shoes wouldn’t have been ideal.

Sandwiched between her two friends, Veronica held on tightly to both of them. She’d agreed a long time ago to let the three of them hold hands through crowds not to get lost, after her initial upturned nose and conviction that she didn’t need anyone holding her hand, thank you very much. But then some guy had tried to slip Parker some GHB and Mac had stumbled over a passed out body and almost fallen headfirst into a group of Pi Sigs’ crotches so Veronica had agreed that being able to tug on her friends’ hand to keep them out of trouble and making sure not to be separated seemed like a good idea. That idea was usually out the window as soon as one of them spotted someone they knew or someone they _wanted_ to know, but that was okay. Veronica couldn’t always be in control, even if she wanted to. Plus, she was the first to admit that other people watching over her put her on edge.

About an hour in, Mac had struck up a conversation with Max, a philosophy major with a bit too much information on the class plan of, well, every single class, and Veronica could very well feel she was the third wheel, whereas Parker had wandered off to talk to some girls from her fashion marketing class. Veronica was, for all intents and purposes, left to her own devices, standing in a corner sipping her can of soda. She took in the already completely upside-down house. If there had been any Christmas decorations besides the crude poster of a mostly nude Santa Claus (who the _hell_ had bought that?), they had been relegated to the floor, along with the trashed remains of the books she assumed hadn’t always lived on the floor, covered with spilled beer.

Just as she was shaking her head in disgust, moving away from a tipsy couple, a figure she hadn’t expected to see caught her eye. _Shit_. She put her soda can down – no need to risk it spilling it as she wove through people, and she was almost done anyway – and made a break for it. _Wasn’t he supposed to be in Oregon already?_ she asked herself uselessly because, obviously, he wasn’t.

Logan was having a great time. He was on the right side of drunk, just slightly tipsy, enough to make him forget that he had to be heading back to his parents’ for Christmas break the next day, but not completely blacked out that he couldn’t enjoy the conversation and laugh at his friends’ attempts at approaching girls, rivaling each other on who could find the most racy pick up line and not get turned down. So far, none of them had had much success. Logan himself would have participated with enjoyment, but today was just one of those bad days, up until the party. While Dick told him finishing the night in a random girl’s apartment would be the perfect way to keep his mind away from complicated thoughts, Logan didn’t quite have the energy to convince anyone he was worthy of their time. So he just watched Dick get turned down over and over again, leaning against the wall and occasionally patting his friend on the back to encourage him not to give up – not that Dick really needed the incentive.

Suddenly, out of completely nowhere, a short blonde girl planted herself in front of him. Okay, maybe it wasn’t out of _nowhere_ , but he hadn’t seen her coming, it had definitely been fast, and, huh, maybe he was tipsier than he thought he was.

“Kiss me,” she said, before his mind even had time to get to the fact that, hello, she was cute. Not cute in a I’ll-buy-you-a-pony-for-Christmas, 7-year-old girl way. Cute in a damn-you’re-hot-I’d-ask-for-your-number-if-I-had-time-to-actually-collect-my-thoughts way.

“Huh?” was all he could think of responding, still barely over the fact that she was hot, not even processing that she’d asked to – what, kiss him? Was he in a movie? That felt like a movie. He thought a girl was hot, and, boom, she was asking him to kiss her.

“Kiss me. Please,” she reiterated.

“Why would I do that?”

She huffed, visibly frustrated, but turned back to him after a quick glance behind herself. “Please.”

“I won’t kiss you,” Logan replied, raising a bewildered eyebrow, because no matter what people were saying, he really _was_ a gentleman. Sometimes. Rarely. Often enough not to go around kissing strangers, at any rate. But not enough to keep him from finding light ways to annoy virtually anyone he interacted with.

She moaned in annoyance and bit her lip, and he noticed how her foot was fidgeting, like she was trying to decide what direction to give it and she didn’t have much time.

“Will you at least tell me why?” he amended.

“Too long. I’m making a run for it,” she warned before darting off, her foot calming as she had apparently just decided where she was going.

She took a step away from him, but he grabbed her hand to hold her back and spun her around to press his lips to hers, his curiosity winning over his principles. If she ran off, he’d never know the story. Also, she was cute, so what the hell. He could kiss her and see where that led.

She tasted sweet, like candy or fizzy drinks or maybe both, and smelled of marshmallows and a discreet perfume, and it vaguely occurred to Logan that maybe it wasn’t normal that he could smell her so well in the midst of the stale beer scent lingering in the air. But she was a good kisser, too, as far as people he’d never met went, for someone who was probably drunk and had been caught off guard by his move. She’d even let her hands wander over the arms steadying her, and when he dared open his mouth, tongue slowly making its way into her mouth, she’d responded. Enthusiastically, even.

When they broke apart, they stared at each other for a few seconds, and Logan could have sworn the rest of the party had suddenly stopped, the sound dimmed and the movements blurred.

She snapped out of it a fraction of a second before him, and licked her lips quickly. “Thanks,” she said, and then she was gone as fast as she’d arrived.

Logan turned around to try to follow her, ask follow-up questions, ask her name, _something_ , but he couldn’t see her anymore. He let himself go slack against the wall once again, but the next sip of his beer didn’t taste as good as it did before he’d had a taste of her.

It was hours later that he caught another glimpse of her. Or rather, he heard her before he could actually see her. He’d pushed through the crowd to see what the commotion was about, in time to hear her screaming at Mercer Hayes – a scumbag if he’d ever met one – about how he should have been ashamed of himself, that if he ever came close to a certain Parker again, she would make him regret it, and from the fiery look in her eyes, the tone of her voice, and the taser brandished in front of her, Logan wholeheartedly believed her. In Mercer’s place, he’d probably have scampered off, avoiding that girl forever. It had been hard to imagine how threatening and serious she could actually look when she’d been just the cute, harmless-looking blonde in front of him (which had lasted less than a second, because he’d instantly been taken aback – and a little turned on – by the abrupt delivery of her businesslike words), but at that moment Logan dared anyone in this room to name anyone they were more afraid of than that girl.

Logan knew he was pretty buzzed by then, his thoughts fuzzy, and it really shouldn’t have surprised him that Dick would laugh at his words, even if he was completely serious when he asked “Who’s that girl?” with wonderment. “I think I’m in love with her.”

Dick’s guffaws continued for a while before he calmed down enough to say to a still mildly star-struck, open-mouthed Logan, “Trust me, you do _not_ want to be in love with that chick.”

“Huh?” Logan asked distractedly, trying to figure out where the mysterious girl had run off again. “Why not?”

“ _That_ ,” Dick said, pointing in the direction of Mercer’s embarrassed form, “was Veronica Mars. She’s a total bitch.”

“Yeah, but she rocks,” Logan said, having no idea why he’d agreed that Veronica Mars was a bitch – he had no indication one way or another – or why the verb “rocks” had made it out of his lips.

Dick laughed again. “She’s crazy. She almost got the frat shut down a couple months ago.”

Logan looked up to his friend. “That was _her_?”

Dick nodded emphatically, taking a long gulp of his drink before patting Logan on the back and setting off.

The girl who had almost shut down the Pi Sigma Sigma fraternity – Veronica Mars, apparently – was a bit of a legend in Greek life circles. Logan wasn’t personally involved in it, but he knew enough people to be almost constantly at their parties, and he heard a lot of the same stories over and over again. One of them involved some shameless freshman girl breaking in (which Logan thought was probably not hard, seeing how athletic and reactive the Pi Sigs he knew were) and exposing their game of rating girls to sleep with them, then keeping score, to the campus authorities. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been impressed when he heard that story. The portrait of her he got from Chip Diller, though, was not very flattering. This tiny, annoying, pestering thing, getting her nose where it had no business, had not been loved in the circles Logan walked. But somehow, she was at the party, and the fact that the hosts most likely all hated her hadn’t deterred her from screaming at Mercer Hayes and threatening him. Hence, the being in love part. Logan was only half kidding (okay, like 2% kidding) when he said he was in love with her. Because, wow.

He needed to get to talk to her. If not for clarification on why the hell she had kissed him – not that he was complaining, far from it – then at least to congratulate her for putting Mercer in his place. It had been quite an enjoyable show. But she was already lost in the crowd, no matter how much he craned his neck.

Veronica got into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. In the midst of her altercation with Mercer, someone (or maybe several someones) had spilled their beer on her sleeve, and not only was it cheap beer that would really make her handy jacket smell odd, it had soaked through to her shirt underneath as well. Ugh.

She shrugged the jacket off and turn the tap on, rubbing soap and water on the large stain, knowing it probably wouldn’t do much. She looked inside the cupboards around for a Tide pen maybe, but found nothing, and kept on rubbing at the beer that napkins hadn’t managed to absorb on her shirt.

It was all Mercer’s fault. Well, actually, it was a lot of people’s fault. First, it was Piz’s fault for somehow not being in Oregon but at this party instead. She was convinced he was away, and if she’d known he was attending the party, she never would have agreed to come. Piz was her friend Wallace’s roommate, but he had shown considerable interest over Veronica since they’d met, an interest she’d tried her damnedest to fend off, but he never seemed to get the hint. Then one day, in the spring, she’d thrown caution through at the wind, it had been a long day, she was feeling alone, and she’d agreed to kiss him. That was it. One kiss. Then she’d realized it was _Piz_ and he was still a dork and she still wasn’t interested, so she’d apologized for leading him on, and the next day told him she wasn’t interested in him. But apparently that lapse in judgment had undone all her hard work of months of politely saying she wasn’t interested, because since then – it had been _months_ – he had continued chasing her like they were supposed to end up together. It wasn’t exactly _creepy_ , but it was definitely on the other side of attractive. As in, extremely unattractive and someone she wanted to avoid at all costs.

So when she’d seen him, she’d panicked, kissed a stranger, and he’d left her alone. Victory! Except, nope, because she’d lost track of where her friends were in the middle of that frenzy, and then Mercer had swooped in on Parker. The nerve of that guy… Veronica had been pretty clear the _first_ time she’d caught him trying to get GHB in her friend’s drink, she really didn’t think he’d try again. But he had, and she’d let him have it in front of everyone. Served him right.

But then because of that pleasant little discussion, she’d gotten beer all over herself. She supposed she could also blame the random guy she’d kissed because, damn, he had no business being that good of a kisser. She hadn’t planned on forgetting momentarily where she was, who she was, and what existed besides that kiss, but she had, and that contributed to how she didn’t know where Parker was. So, hot guy who could kiss as well as he could lean against a wall? To blame, most definitely.

(It vaguely registered that leaning against a wall wasn’t usually a skill she noticed in people, but he just did it in such an effortless way that it was hard not to notice. Also, the way his Henley shirt hugged his chest was especially enticing and, yeah, sure, maybe she would have wanted to kiss him regardless of whether she needed to pretend she had a boyfriend for a second for Piz’s sake. But Veronica reasoned it wasn’t _her_ fault she’d gotten disoriented by the kiss. She’d done what she had to do to keep Piz away, and it had worked.)

After a few minutes, she gave up on getting the beer from her jacket, decided she’d just have to do her laundry tomorrow morning, and wrung out her sleeve so that she wouldn’t be dripping everywhere. As she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, she almost collided with someone, but put a hand on his chest to steady them both and – wait a minute. She looked up and saw from his widened eyes that the boy she had accosted/kissed/run away from recognized her too.

“Hey,” he said, and fuck, in her urgency earlier, she hadn’t noticed that his voice was just about as hot as he was. It sounded warm, and maybe it was the alcohol he was undoubtedly swimming in that made it that much sultrier, but it made her want to cozy up with that voice. “I was hoping I’d run into you,” he added, his lip tugging upwards.

This was potentially bad, potentially good. If he wanted a repeat of their earlier kiss, no strings attached – heck yes, she was in. If, and that notion had only come to her _after_ she’d decided she had to kiss a stranger immediately to keep Piz away, he thought that the fact that he’d saved her from something he didn’t know with his heroic lips entitled him to more – that was bad. Bad as in, he could get insistent, he could get pushy, he could use the fact that they were the only two people in the hallway to try to get her to agree to whatever he had in mind, and he could feel like she owed him something more.

She gave him a tight smile and looked around to see if she could make a quick escape.

“You’re on edge,” he remarked, taking a step back as she slipped past so she was no longer between him and the door. “Like earlier. What was _that_ all about?”

He turned on the spot to keep looking at her and she shrugged. “Needed a quick getaway. Thanks again, by the way. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He stopped for a moment before continuing, “Well, actually a little bit problem.”

Uh-oh, there it was. She took another step backwards, toward the party. “Hm?” she asked.

“I was told you were crazy, which, you know, I’m not denying necessarily. And, I don’t know, I’d like to get your introduction from yourself, now that we’ve shared saliva and all that.”

“That is possibly the most disgusting way anyone has ever told me I’d kissed them.”

“Well, it’s true, though. There was some sharing,” he said, walking towards her, and she wasn’t sure if the slight sway in his step was because he was drunk or if he naturally had that lanky air to him. Maybe both.

“Okay, I will admit there was some sharing,” she replied, slightly amused and less wary.

“So who are you?” he asked once he was back to her, close enough to kiss again, and she probably should have been frightened that he was so close, but she wasn’t, and didn’t move. His voice was almost pleading, almost cute, and she really wanted to kiss him again.

“I’m crazy,” she said seriously.

“Hi Crazy, I’m Logan,” he deadpanned, smirk on his lip and he looked proud of his terrible joke. Then she looked right into his soft eyes and she knew she was a goner because who the hell looked at a stranger like that. “But seriously,” he practically whined, voice low, and if she had dared, Veronica would have stepped even closer to him, nose to nose, to increase the stakes.

“I’m Veronica,” she simply said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Veronica.”

His voice was driving her crazy. Maybe she was crazy, and this time it was entirely because of him, of the way he said her name like it was a revelation, even if she was pretty sure he knew it already, of the way he looked down at her with those goddamn brown eyes of his.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” she replied, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt.

“I wanted to congratulate you.”

“Congratulate me?” she asked, a small laugh in her throat as she leaned forward just a bit more and she could feel their chests mere millimetres apart, breathing in rhythm.

“For Mercer. You know, that whole threatening part. It was hot.”

“I was just doing society a favour by hopefully getting him out of everyone’s hair.”

“Society thanks you,” he murmured.

At this point, she was approximately 98.7% sure he was going to kiss her, and 99.5% sure she wanted him to kiss her, even if all she knew about him was that his name was Logan and he was a good kisser. And that he didn’t like Mercer, which should just have been a given for any decent human being.

“Logan, man!” a voice boomed behind her and Logan looked up from Veronica to the figure to whom to voice belonged. New Guy could go fuck himself for interrupting that moment, was Veronica’s fair and unbiased opinion.

“Yeah?” Logan asked and Veronica debated whether she should just grab his shirt and kiss him because she didn’t think any conversation he might have could be more interesting than that.

“Oh, you’re with…” the guy trailed off and Veronica raised an eyebrow, turning around to take in Logan’s interlocutor.

A Pi Sig, probably. Wait, what if _Logan_ was a Pi Sig? It was entirely possible, and she didn’t know why it suddenly mattered, because right now her intentions went about as far as making out with him and probably never seeing him again. Dating a Pi Sig, probably not a good idea. But she wasn’t dating him, she was just in a hallway with him, ready for kiss number two. (She was also up for kiss numbers three through a million, if he wanted. Totally up to him.)

“Kinda busy here, Dick,” Logan said.

“Right!” Dick, as he was apparently called, gave an awkward laugh and pointed two finger guns at them, a wide smile on his lips and Veronica decided he was probably dumb. “The love of your life and all that.”

The who of his what now?

Logan visibly cringed and shot “I’ll kill you!” at his friend’s retreating figure. Veronica looked back up at him with a smirk, and he looked embarrassed.

“The love of your life, huh?” she asked.

“Might have been a tad overdramatic.”

“Just a smidge.” She ran a hand along his shoulder. “So… care to elaborate on that?” she asked.

She dared with the touch, because, what the hell. If his friends knew her as the love of his life (which made her laugh, but not in a mocking way, more of a flattered and slightly terrified way), she could tease him.

“Might have been drunk.”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded, letting her fingers trail up his neck.

“And in awe of you taking down Mercer.”

“Mhmm.”

“And still not completely over the kiss you gave me.”

“Technically, you gave _me_ a kiss.”

“Right. Well, that.”

“So, like, if it were to happen again, would you ask me to marry you or something? Because I have to say that might be too much for my first day of knowing you.”

“I’ll try not to?”

She smiled and reached up, but he stopped her by grabbing her chin between his thumb and index finger. She pouted. “What, are you scared you’ll ask me to bear your children? Answer’s no, let’s get that out of the way.”

He snaked an arm around her waist and walked them a few steps to the left before looking back down at her. “Glad it’s out of the way, it would have eaten me alive,” he said dramatically.

“Always happy to be of service.”

“About that…”

“Hm?”

“Well, I’m not saying now you _have_ to kiss me, but I’m just putting all the luck on my side.” He pointed over them to the mistletoe and shrugged when she bit her lip to hide a grin. Okay, so maybe this Logan guy wasn’t just ridiculously handsome and a good kisser and a dramatic drunk, but also kind of a romantic? Maybe she _would_ see him again after today, because, damn. That seemed like a pretty good package deal.

“I do enjoy Christmas traditions. They’re so important,” she replied with a smile.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“I’m kind of surprised to find decorations in this house,” Veronica noted.

“This one’s for kissing, I don’t think that’s the things those guys forget. Although they could try turn that dirtier than it was originally meant.”

“You’re not a Pi Sig?”

“God, no.”

“Oh, good.”

“Why, would that have called everything off?”

“I’m not sure if I would have dared. I _am_ the love of your life, after all.”

He closed his eyes in embarrassment. “Can we forget that happened?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the p. “But if you can find a way to shut me up, I’m alllllll ears. You’ve been stalling.”

“I have, haven’t I?”

She nodded and gingerly lifted herself on the balls of her feet. He met her halfway, slowly molding his lips to hers, his hand still splayed on her back and the other, knuckles running down her cheek, as if to marvel at her skin. He still tasted of kind of bad beer, but, like earlier, his technique more than made up for that. It was slower than the first time – the buildup had been more exciting and so the reward had to be sweeter, right? – and all Veronica could think about in that moment was whether he’d be willing to do that again. If he was handing out lifetime subscriptions, she was so in. Then she wondered if maybe she could just ask him about it – she didn’t need to be reminded that somehow he’d told his friends he loved her, which she knew he didn’t, but it must have been an impassioned drunk declaration regardless, and she appreciated the sentiment – and, and, and _wow_ that guy really knew how to kiss.

When they pulled away, she giggled, for no reason, but then caught herself.

“What is it?” Logan asked, still holding her, and he better not let go anytime soon.

“Nothing. Just… so, as the current titular love of your life,” she said with a smirk as he groaned. She already loved teasing him with this. If she could keep seeing him, that wasn’t something she thought she’d get bored of quickly. That, and the kisses. But, back to the point. “I’m just thinking, it would make sense for me to have your phone number, don’t you think?”

“That would make the star-crossed lovers experience less tragic, I do think,” he said with a smirk matching her own.”

“Right! So, I could also give you mine, and it would be, like, a service to your friends that you’re not pining away for me while nursing that hangover you’re bound to have.”

“You haven’t been drinking,” he remarked.

She took out her phone and handed it to him as she grabbed his from his pocket with a smile. “Very astute observation,” she replied, punching in her number.

“It wasn’t so much an observation as something based on taste.”

“So you’re telling me you have a sharp and talented tongue.”

“I’m not _not_ saying it.”

She placed his phone back into his pocket and patted it on top of the fabric as he handed her hers wordlessly.

“So what now?” she asked, and she didn’t want to ask, but if she didn’t, he might take his hands off of her and it was cold outside, so storing in maximal heat right now seemed like a solid plan. That was her only motive. Obviously.

“Well, I’m going to _hope_ I was sober enough to give you the right number, and that yours wasn’t fake. Then I’ll nurse this hangover, apparently. And then I’ll be home for the holidays. And after _that_ I was thinking I’d call you and hope you pick up.”

“What would you do if I picked up?”

“Ask you out and hope I wasn’t imagining what’s passing between us?”

“You’re very forward.”

“I can be more forward.”

“How much more?” Veronica asked, leaning in against his cheek to say the words.

He turned his head slightly to kiss her cheek, then relocated to her neck, bringing both his hands to her waist. She hummed in contentment, grabbing the back of his head to keep him there. As he lightly bit at her skin, she gasped and held him tighter.

“Something like that. But I do intend on doing this properly,” he whispered and she felt shivers down her whole body.

“Properly?”

“Well, once you’ve picked up and accepted that I take you out on a date… I wouldn’t want to rush things.”

“What if I want to be rushed?”

“I’d have to oblige.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see if I pick up, then.”

“I guess we will,” he smiled hungrily and, wow, he was right about not rushing, but right then she could have just tugged him into any room on the side and forgotten she was someone’s designated driver.

Oh shit. She was someone’s designated driver. Two someones, who would probably end up noticing she was gone. She patted a hand on his chest to bring his attention to her face.

“I actually do have to go. You should know you’re no longer allowed to call me the love of your life if you don’t call.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled. “Fine. I’ll try to remember, I guess, or something, whatever.”

She hit his chest as he let her go. “You better.”

“You can call me too, you know. This doesn’t have to be one-sided.”

“Hm, we’ll see. Merry Christmas!”

And, with a wink, she was out of the hallway and back into the main area, where everything was still boozy, upturned, and disgusting. Ah, college parties.

She located Mac and Parker close to the pool table – she was really glad she wasn’t the one in charge of the fraternity’s budget, because the table had also broken during the last party she’d attended, and that looked like an unnecessary expense – and waved at them.

“There you are. We were starting to wonder if you had just decided to go without us,” Mac said.

“Me? Never. I was just talking with some guy.”

“Talking or tasing?” Parker asked.

“Talking! In between the kissing.”

“The kissing? Um, Veronica! Spill!” Parker squealed.

She shrugged. “If he calls, I’ll tell you about him.”

Logan called half an hour later, as she was getting into bed.

“You left before I could say Merry Christmas back.”

“You should call on Christmas day to say it properly.”

“I will.”

“Or maybe I’ll call you.”

“Okay. Hey, Veronica?”

“Yeah?”

“For your information, I didn’t say you were the love of my life. I just said I thought I was in love with you. The rest was pure extrapolation on Dick’s part.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, tons of guys have said that before.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“I’m not sure if I should be relieved I don’t have competition in the overly dramatic boys vying for your attention category, or just be more embarrassed.”

“What about both?”

“I can do that. Good night.”

“Good night, Logan. Merry Christmas eve eve.”

“That’s a thing now?”

“Absolutely.”

“Merry Christmas eve eve, then.”


	10. Typing Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica has to work a Christmas day shift at the campus coffee shop, much to her displeasure.
> 
> I couldn't have this collection go without one coffee shop AU, so this is what I came up with!

When her boss had told her she’d have a shift on Christmas day, Veronica had been pissed. Inwardly, of course; she didn’t actually _tell_ Nish at the student-run campus library-slash-café where she could put her stupid schedule. But when she’d learnt that her Christmas day shift was a Christmas _morning_ shift, she’d been even more annoyed. That meant no enjoying her day, obviously, but also no staying up too late on Christmas Eve since she had to open shop at 7AM. What kind of business was open on Christmas day anyway? That, she’d asked Nish, who had replied that _they_ were, because their job was to be there for all students of all confessions on all days.

So there Veronica was, a few minutes past 7, the sole person in the building. Nish had judged that one person would be enough to man both the library counter and the orders from the café portion of the store on such a day, and while Veronica wholeheartedly agreed, it still made her lonely. She itched to pull out her latest case file and get in a bit of work, but she resolved to be professional. She liked the Hearst Ground, even if it had a stupid name and mostly served rude students. The mix of café and library delighted her, and the atmosphere was peaceful, pleasant and cozy. She wasn’t a people’s person either, so she imagined a part of her should have been happy to be left alone, but that also meant no tips and that she was bored out of her mind.

She was straightening the muffins in the display when the bell chimed on the other side of the store and a young man entered, settling into one of the working areas of the library and pulling out his laptop, without a look her way. Rude. Or maybe he just hadn’t seen her, or maybe he really only was there to work on whatever it was he worked on and had no intention to interact with her.

Half an hour later, Fidgety But Kind Of Hot Student was still the only person Veronica had seen and she was running out of things to straighten aimlessly. She’d been stealing glances at him because, frankly, she had nothing better to do and she was curious. When she told the story to Mac later that week, she insisted that she’d observed him _and then_ found out he was attractive, not observed him _because_ he was attractive. It was an important nuance.

So, what was Fidgety But Kind Of Hot Student working on? He didn’t have any textbook out that she could have glanced at and he hadn’t wandered over to any part of the library, so she had very little to go by. He’d barely stopped typing the whole time he’d been there, so she wanted to discard all scientific majors, but she remembered Wallace spending hours working on lab reports for his engineering classes, so she wasn’t sure. During his brief and occasional pauses, he’d bite his pen cap, and it seemed that the only purpose of that pen was as a chew toy. He hadn’t used it, or even had any papers out, but he picked it up regularly, twirling it between his fingers, sometimes while typing (his dexterity was impressive and Veronica certainly didn’t think about what else those fingers could do), or chewing the cap while he looked at his screen thoughtfully. It never lasted long, he was often right back into typing withing five or ten seconds.

So, major? Veronica could safely say by the time he’d been there an hour that she had no idea. He had the look of an English major who had secretly received several prizes for his short stories, working on his next great masterpiece. Somehow fully aware of his talent, of how his jaw flexed when he bit that damn cap, but also the artistic whimsy of him, the attention to detail. She was leaning towards that angle because he didn’t stop to look at references before typing again and again. But then he also could have been working on a lab report. The more she thought about that, juxtaposed him with Wallace and his mechanical engineering buddies, the more the idea gained momentum in her head. His clothes looked costly but not especially well styled, and his hair was cut straight and sleek. It seemed to work the mix of mad scientist and attention to detail she’d come to know of engineering majors. But he could also have been a sociology or psychology major. As a criminology major herself, she had classes with a lot of them, and she could see him fitting in. That sharp intelligence he seemed to exude, and the way he tilted his head to weigh his words. Like he had to be careful with them, treat them delicately not to make his meaning come across wrong, which wasn’t something someone writing pure science would be worrying about, or that someone who strived for creativity and originality would have to care about, since connotation was a good thing in that case.

Then he could also be working on something else entirely, not even for school. But that seemed unlikely. Who got to work so early on Christmas morning if not to meet a looming deadline? She knew several classes allowed due dates to be set as late as New Year’s Eve. It felt like an end-of-semester writing spree. Or maybe he was writing a _very_ long Christmas email to someone he knew.

“Is the Christmas hat for the job or is it part of your everyday style?”

She whipped around from the shelf she was reorganizing – this time by alphabetical order, undoing the colour coded order she’d worked on previously – to see Fidgety But Kind Of Hot Student smirking at her.

“Would you believe me if I said I convinced them to make it a part of the job for everyone _because_ it’s part of my everyday style?”

“I would very much believe that. I’d even believe you’re coming straight from Santa’s workshop and this is what you do as soon as the longest night of the year is over.”

She snorted. That had to be the most original way she’d ever heard for someone to point out how short she was. The guy was quick. Communications major, maybe?

“It usually takes people longer than that to figure out. Have you visited us recently?”

“The North Pole? Nah, I’m more of a surfing guy. Water’s too cold over there.”

Surfing, huh? That smelled like rich kid. Pre-law? Pre-med? No, definitely not pre-med. He didn’t look tired enough. Or into memorizing anatomy textbooks.

“Can’t say I know what feels cold to humans. We elves have higher tolerance for low temperatures,” she shrugged and he smiled, apparently surprised by her response to his joking around. (Flirting? Boys who knew they looked good were practically perpetually flirting, but didn’t mean it. It was their default mode, and Veronica knew exactly how to turn them around when necessary. But she was enjoying herself so far.) “What can I get you?” she asked, realizing he was a customer and hadn’t come over to the counter just to talk to her.

“Uh, a tall cappuccino, please. Oh, and one of those elf cookies,” he added, pointing through the glass at their seasonal cookies with a wink.

If he was only taking a tall coffee, he’d probably be back. But then again, maybe he was almost done with his sprint of a paper and he just needed one last boost. Veronica nodded and placed a cookie on a small plate while his coffee was brewing.

“They really make you work on Christmas morning? That’s rough.”

“Well, you see, there’s this concept of supply and demand. People come on Christmas, so we’re open,” she replied, pointing over at where he’d been sitting, his laptop still open on the table. She probably shouldn’t have been using sarcasm with a customer, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I’d say people come _because_ you’re open.”

“Supply and demand isn’t one-sided,” Veronica said, turning to get his coffee from the machine and placing a cup. “I’d ask for your name to write on the cup but I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Read: tell me your name anyway because I’m curious.

“Hm, I’ll only supply when there’s demand,” he nodded with a smirk as he pulled out his wallet to pay.

Jackass.

Fidgety But Definitely Hot Now That Seen Up Close But Also Kind Of An Ass From Up Close stayed after he’d finished his coffee and cookie, and he kept typing, although his pauses started getting more stretched out, the lid of his cup replacing the pen as his weapon of choice to keep his hands occupied when he wasn’t typing. Two girls, freshmen by the look of it, came in around 10 to get gingerbread lattes before they were retired for the year again, and eyed her main customer with barely disguised admiration as they passed him on their way out. He briefly looked up to wink at them, and Veronica couldn’t contain her eyeroll.

“Why’d you accept the Christmas morning shift?” he asked when he came for a refill twenty minutes after the giggling girls had left.

“You may be unfamiliar with the concept, but I have a boss. She tells me what to do and I listen, and that way I keep my job. It’s a crafty little system like that. Why are _you_ spending your Christmas morning in a coffee shop?”

“You know, I’m not sure you’re supposed to use that tone with customers,” he said pointedly, looking at her while he took a sip of the coffee she’d just handed him.

“What are you gonna do, tell my boss?”

“Right after I thank her for giving you this morning shift.”

“Thank her for – because I got the joy of being here instead of home with my family?”

“Because _I_ got the joy of meeting _you_ ,” he said like it was obvious, that stupid smirk still on his face. “Toodles!”

And just like that he was walking away, back to his table, not sparing another glance in her direction. Yep, definitely a jackass. But fuck, he was hot.

“What are you working on?” she risked when he came in around noon for another coffee, but this time with a sandwich.

“Now, see, that is definitely unprofessional.” But he looked absolutely delighted.

“But you know about both my elfish nature _and_ the joys of how my work schedule is set. How will this conversation ever be even if I don’t even know what brought you to my wonderful workplace?”

He had a small laugh, more of an amused exhale. “Final paper for sociology.”

“’That your major?”

“Nah. It’s one of my core requirements. I’m a business major.”

Business? Veronica hadn’t even thought about it, but it made sense, kind of. He obviously had money, and if there was a family business to inherit, it was logical that he’d set himself up to inherit it.

“So my lesson on supply and demand was but a refresher?”

“Alas. Although your succinct interpretation was an interesting take.”

It was her turn to laugh/exhale as she swiped his credit card.

“What’s your major?” he asked.

“Criminology.”

His eyes widened, impressed. “So you, like, catch bad guys and stuff?”

“I guess? Eventually as the outcome of that. Currently on the side.”

“You catch bad guys _on the side_?” He sounded completely flabbergasted. Also, confused. This 5 foot 1 blonde in the Santa hat? Veronica was well aware she did not look the part of the part-time P.I., and it played in her favour more often than not.

“I have a P.I. license.”

“You have a P.I. license?” he repeated, mouth hanging open.

Suddenly she felt slightly embarrassed. She handed him his receipt, but he didn’t move.

“Yeah. My dad’s a P.I., so… In my blood, I guess? I took the exam and voilà! Private eye.” She smiled awkwardly and made a semi-shrugging motion with her hands, pointing at herself.

He whistled, low. “Damn, elf. That’s kind of hot.”

She laughed. “Did you just call me ‘elf’?”

“Can’t read your nametag.”

She swept her hair away and he read it, then looked up at her.

“Veronica.”

“That is indeed my name.”

“Like Veronica Lake?”

“Well, except Veronica is actually my real name.”

“It wasn’t hers?”

Veronica shook her head. “Hers was Constance.”

“Well, look at that, I learned something today.”

“If you manage to include that in your sociology paper, I’m buying you your next coffee. My shift’s over in an hour, though, so if you want it, better hurry.”

He smiled hungrily. “Oh, you are _on_.”

He gathered his wallet, receipt, sandwich and coffee, and was about to head back to his table when Veronica asked, “What’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your name.”

“You can find that out when you read my paper, _Veronica_.” He raised his eyebrows defiantly and walked backwards to his laptop.

That absolute lunatic actually managed to fit the use of stage names in his paper about the effect of media attention on public figures. If she’d known how well Veronica Lake fit into his chosen subject, she probably wouldn’t have offered something so bold. But it was too late to take it back, and when she read over the paragraph he’d written, citing Lake as an example of celebrities having changed their names for professional endeavours, she had to give it to him, he wasn’t half bad. The inclusion was fluid and his style was nice. Slightly cynical, probably too much for what was expected of him, but she enjoyed it.

It wasn’t until her eyes landed on the header of the page he’d shown her that she understood his reason for having chosen that subject. His name was written, Logan Echolls. Something told her he was probably related to Lynn Echolls, an actress who had seemed to have the perfect life, envied by all, until she jumped off a bridge and left no note. Some said it was the excessive media attention that finally got to her, some said it was her husband, who seemed increasingly shady as time went by. Veronica didn’t have an opinion either way, but she remembered being shocked by the news when she’d heard them, in high school.

“I guess I owe you a coffee, _Logan_.”

“I guess you do. Can I cash in that favour for later, though?”

“Sure, when?”

“Around the time you leave? A coffee to go.”

“Sure,” she repeated, a small smile playing across her lips.

Logan pushed himself off the counter. “Great. I’ll be back, then.” He took his laptop with him and sat back down at his table.

A few other customers came in the early afternoon, most of them for a coffee to go, and one grad student checked out a book, but it was still a very quiet day by normal standards. When Becky came in to replace her at 1PM, Veronica bought two coffees and one of those ridiculous elf cookies before punching out and walked over to where Logan was working on his paper.

She placed the cookie and one of the coffees on the table. “My shift is up. Seeing as you are _such_ a fan of elves, I couldn’t resist,” she smirked, motioning towards the cookie.

His eyes lit up and he closed his laptop. “There really is only one interesting elf right now.”

“And you’re about to eat it?”

“I wasn’t going to go as far as to assume _that_.”

Veronica blushed, biting her lip and closing her eyes when the double meaning occurred to her, too late to take it back now that she’d seen his smirk. “Didn’t think that one through.”

“No, you didn’t. It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

“To girls not thinking things through when talking to you?”

“That, too, and believe me when I say it is the key to success, but I meant that you elves aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.”

Her mouth fell open and he snickered, pulling his bag on his shoulder after having stuffed his laptop and pen inside. They exited the building side by side, and Veronica rounded on him. “And exactly how many other elves have you met before?”

“Hundreds. In stories. You’re the first one I meet in person. Who knows, maybe you’re not like other elves. Ready to star in a Hallmark movie as the one elf whose vision will revolutionize the toymaking process. And you’ll also be the first girl chief of Santa’s production. And then two or three clueless but well-intentioned – well, one of them well-intentioned only – elves will vie for your attention. Seems about right?”

“Damn it, you can see right through me. Filming starts next week. Except one of my suitors isn’t an elf, but an innocent wide-eyed human who stumbled across the factory and whose memory everyone wants to erase. But I just _know_ he’s special.”

“You didn’t let me get into the specifics.”

“You don’t have the brains for the specifics.”

“Please, you read my paper. I have the brains.”

“You’re awfully confident.”

“You like it, though, admit it.”

“It’s better when someone’s justifiably confident than a total idiot underneath the confidence.”

“And which one am I?”

“I’m still talking to you, aren’t I?”

He smiled and took another swallow of his coffee.

“Why are you spending Christmas alone?” Veronica asked. She was aware it was a personal question, but she really wanted to know. And seeing how good he was at deflecting, if he didn’t want to answer he wouldn’t.

“I’m not alone, I’m with you.”

Deflecting it was, then. She just nodded. But, to her surprise, he spoke up again.

“There’s no one in my family I want to spend it with anymore. And my friends went back to their families, so that leaves me a hot date with my sociology paper.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a fun day. You know, in between the typing and wondering if any of what I wrote made sense.”

“What I read made sense,” she offered.

“See, told you I had the brains.”

She laughed. “Well played.”

“I try.”

“I’m, uh. Actually, this is my building,” Veronica said, pointing to the building they’d just reached. She hadn’t noticed they were already there, the walk through campus seemed faster when she was talking with Logan. _Note to self: interacting with others can also sometimes lead to time going faster_. Who would have thought?

“Right, yeah. Well, merry Christmas. And thanks for the coffee.”

“My pleasure.” She took a step to the side. “Hey, can I… call you, maybe? Sometime?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

He grabbed his pen and a loose post-it from his bag – Veronica did _not_ want to see how messy it was in there – and scribbled his number on it before handing it to her.

“Thanks. I’ll… I’ll call you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

She waved at him before walking inside, willing herself to punch his number into her phone before she lost the paper. Her best friend from high school, Lilly, had always told her to let a boy linger, to make him develop the longing and the want and only call when he was just about to lose hope. Veronica was entirely ready to listen to the advice, and not call Logan for a few days.

But Lilly had never said anything about texting, and they met up the next day.


	11. Competitive Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica has always been the uncontested queen of Christmas decorations in the neighbourhood, but a newcomer is trying to give her a run for her money.
> 
> AU in which Logan and Veronica are strangers who meet in their thirties.

If there was one word Veronica Mars could have used to describe herself, it was _competitive_. And one thing for which she was particularly competitive was Christmas. All of it. She prided herself in having the most holiday spirit, making the best dinner, giving the best gifts, and having the best house decorating. That last bit had never been a fair contest to anyone in her neighbourhood for years… Until this year, when the new owners of the house two doors down had decided to give her a run for her money. She both loved the competition and hated not being the clear winner. Usually, her extensive set of lights, paired with a gorgeous wreath and her frankly impressive setup of Santa’s sleigh on her roof was, hands down, the best attempt at decorating anyone in the neighbourhood had ever even tried. She spiced it up a little bit every year, adding new lights, changing some colours, but the essence stayed the same.

But then whoever lived two doors down – she’d never actually met them – had put up their Christmas decorations and even Veronica had to admit that it looked damn good. Inflatable figures on the front lawn, moving projections on the façade, and even window art. It was a more modern style than hers, and of course she preferred how her own house looked, but they were original and eye-catching and her friend Mac had commented on how well decorated that house was when she’d been over the previous week and Veronica certainly couldn’t have _that_. She had to eclipse all the others or else what was the point?

So she’d been to the hardware store and bought more lights, this time with alternating colours, and added glittery snowflakes along her porch. The day after she’d done that, the neighbours two doors down had bought an interactive Santa figure. Oh, it was _on_. Veronica might not have had the budget for fancy things like her neighbours obviously did, she’d blown it all on buying the house a few years previously, but she was crafty and creative. She could find something that would make her house look the best.

But after two weeks of this, where she’d installed a larger than life candy cane trail along the path leading from the sidewalk to her front door, light-up elves in Santa’s sleigh and an additional row of lights hanging from her cornice and the neighbours had retaliated by adding a nativity scene on their porch, what looked like a shooting star with progressive light shooting from the roof and added a soundtrack to their projections, she was out of ideas. And she’d exceeded her budget for sure. _And_ her father had reprimanded her for her frivolous spending. Her house had looked beautiful before the competition had escalated, he said. He was right, but Veronica wanted it to be the _best_. At least she had a consistent theme, she reasoned, scoffing at her neighbours’ superposition of baby Jesus and polar bears. _Her_ decoration was all very North Pole centered, thank you very much.

But even if she’d decided to leave it at that for this year (or at least until Halloween decorations, she wasn’t too shabby at that either), she was annoyed that someone else was as determined as her to win an entirely made up contest. She asked her next-door neighbour, Mrs. Whiskam, about it when she ran into her at the post office. They were both waiting in line to send off Christmas cards and they had evidently not been the only two to pick that date to send the obligatory insincere greetings to their extended family.

“Do you know who lives next doors to you?” Veronica asked. “On the other side, not me.”

Mrs. Whiskam leaned in closer to the young woman with mischief in her eye.

“A handsome young man. I think he lives alone. About your age. I got his mail, once. Echolls, I think his name was.”

“I’ve never seen him.”

Mrs. Whiskam waved her hand around. “That’s normal. He often works night shifts, he leaves before you get home from work.”

“How do you know he works night shifts? Did you talk to him?”

“Nothing besides bringing him his mail from when they’d given it to me instead. I assumed from his coming and going schedule.”

Come to think of it, it was true that the neighbour – Mr. Echolls, apparently – was often gone when she looked out the window. She could tell by the presence of his car. Mrs. Whiskam had been more attentive, it seemed. Or more of a gossip. She could have a future in her father’s P.I. business, Veronica thought. Plus, she had the time on her hands, she’d been retired for almost a decade.

“That makes sense. Thanks, Mrs. Whiskam.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Mars. You wonder because of the decorations, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. Usually no one decorates quite as…”

“Ostentatiously?”

“Exactly.”

The older woman nodded sagely. “No one usually comes close to you in terms of that.”

The following days, Veronica kept an eye out to try to spot the elusive Mr. Echolls. When she came home, when she left, and even in the middle of the day during the weekend, out the window. But she never caught him. Sometimes he was home, sometimes he wasn’t, but she didn’t manage to cross paths with him or see him as he was walking to or from his car. On her morning jog, she wondered if he was maybe one of the people she crossed, but none of them seemed to fit the description of someone her age, living alone. The only other joggers in their early thirties she saw were couples. Or maybe, since he worked night shifts, his morning jogs were in the evening?

She didn’t know what she would say to him if she did run into him, but she wanted to at least see who she was up against, gauge if he’d pursue the competition if she kept it going.

She’d more or less given up on her idea of finding her slippery neighbour by the time Christmas shopping took over her priorities from Christmas decorations, which had managed to hold the spot for a solid three weeks, from Black Friday to mid December. But by then, she had to switch from keeping an eye out for something one of her loved ones would enjoy to an active search. Specifically, for her nephew Noah. He had been very precise in his list to Santa Claus, that Wallace had passed along to Veronica when she’d asked what his son would like to receive. At the top of the famed list, of which she had a picture on her phone, sat a coveted set of Hot Wheels cars.

“Not just any cars,” Wallace had insisted. “He wants those exact ones. He took ages choosing them.”

Veronica had gotten used to the youngest Fennel’s love for small car toys over the past few months, having had to sidestep them many, many times when she was over at her best friend’s house, and having missed her sidestepping once, which her backside still remembered achingly. But Noah was adorable when he was playing with them, saliva bubbling up against his lips when he made noises to go along with the whizzing movements of the race cars, or walking shakily on his tiny toddler legs over to her to run the cars up and down her arms and explaining as well as he could the differences between all of them. She’d even agreed to let him use her as a drawbridge between two cities for his cars to cross over, once. Wallace had laughed at how easily his son had managed to mollify her, and then at the traffic jam Noah had created on Veronica’s stomach as she tried to maintain a conversation with the other adults.

Noah was as close as Veronica was likely ever to get to having children and even if she maintained she didn’t like kids, she was head over heels for Wallace’s son. So she was determined to find him the perfect gift, or at least perfect for now, regardless of what was actually useful and would last – that was Wallace’s job. Noah had started taking quite a liking to Shae’s sister, and Veronica was determined to remain his favourite aunt, even if she wasn’t even technically his aunt by blood. She saw him often enough that she let herself refer to him as her nephew.

The toy store was close to closing time and Veronica had just managed to get off work in time to make it there so she walked through the seemingly endless aisles as quickly as she could while still looking properly at what she passed. She hated being one of the people who held up the employees who had finished their shifts and were just waiting for the customers to make their choice before going home.

She rounded off the corner of the miniature plastic kitchenettes and finally laid eyes on the rows upon rows of small vehicles. She could see the individually wrapped tiny wagons, the Cars cars and the Planes planes, and, there, tucked between a green and an orange pack, the purple Hot Wheels set. She settled in front of it, looking closely. That sure looked like it was the one. Wallace would be so happy she’d found it. She took out her phone to look at the picture of Noah’s list to make extra sure, and she was just about done scrolling through her pictures when a hand reached out from above her and grabbed the coveted purple Hot Wheels pack.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, grabbing the bottom of the pack as it passed in front of her face, then whipped around to see who was still tugging on the other end.

She kept her hand firmly around her end of it as she took in the man before her. He was taller, the top of her head was probably around his chin, and he looked stronger than she was, too. _Well, tough luck, my guy, because I’m getting these Hot Wheels._ His kid could have the green pack with the car Noah insisted looked like poop, whatever that meant.

She was about to tell him just that, but he wasn’t letting go either, not even a little bit. She tugged one last time before deciding the man was almost as determined as she was.

“I had that,” she said flatly, looking straight into his eyes. That was usually enough to deter anyone.

But it didn’t seem to deter him, he just looked right back at her, coolly. “Pretty sure I grabbed it before you did.”

“I found it before you did.”

“And I took it before you did.”

“My nephew needs these.”

He scoffed. “Needs?”

She kept staring at him. “Yes, needs.” Okay, that was probably an exaggeration, but she wasn’t going to let anyone else have Noah’s cars. It was a question of principle. She wasn’t getting him a set including a car that looked like poop, or he’d think he hadn’t been enough of a good boy according to Santa.

“Can’t you just grab another set? That exact one is the one I’ve been looking for.”

“ _No_. I can’t. This is the exact one. The purple one.” She waved her phone screen in front of his face as demonstration, even if he couldn’t make out anything on it. “Look,” she said, deflating. “My nephew really wants this one set. He chose it in the catalogue, he spent a really long time picking it out. Please.”

She saw hesitation playing in his eyes, but he didn’t slacken his grip. “My friend needs those. He collects them, he already has all the other sets. This one is hard to find.”

She scoffed. “You’re telling me. Please tell me your friend is an 8-year-old cancer patient.”

The man grimaced, but still made no motion to give in. “He’s 33 and a recovering addict who’s pouring his attention into collections of kids’ toys?”

She gasped disbelievingly. “My nephew is a four-year-old who will believe Santa doesn’t like him if he gets the wrong set, so.” She widened her eyes meaningfully. “I obviously win this one.”

Okay, so, at least his friend had a _reason_ for collecting kids’ toys. Still, she felt like Noah came first, by a mile.

“Not everything is a competition,” he replied testily.

“This is. Look, please. I want my nephew to still believe in Santa for as long as he can. And what good reason would _Santa_ have of giving him the wrong set?”

“I never believed in Santa, and I turned out okay.”

“Did you, though?”

He had a small laugh. “Fair.”

“Your friend won’t be disappointed on Christmas morning if he doesn’t get this. Get him a video game and you’re set.”

“You don’t even know Dick.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Dick. My friend.”

She blushed. “Right. So, what, _Dick_ hates video games?”

“On the contrary. But his therapist said the violence wasn’t the best thing to see all day, every day. Hence, the Hot Wheels collection.”

“So, get him Wii Sports, big deal.”

“That’s not a video game.”

“Is too.”

“Okay, look, lady –”

“Lady?!”

“Uh, miss. Ma’am. Whatever. I got this first.”

“You’re heartless.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Okay, what about this,” Veronica said. “I take this. And you can ask one of the employees if they’ve got some more out back.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, right. You can ask yourself. I can even ask for you. But I’m taking this one.”

“I don’t need you to ask for me. And I’m certainly not letting go of that one.”

He ignored her and took a step back, still firmly holding the pack as he waved at an employee with one hand. She hurried over with a smile on her face, and Veronica noticed the man had one, too, plastered there like it was second nature, appearing as soon as he’d looked away from her.

“Mr. Echolls, what can I do for you?” the employee asked pleasantly.

The man started talking, but Veronica didn’t hear any of it. She cut him off.

“Hold up, wait. Echolls?”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. Do I know you?”

She jabbed the finger of her free hand at him. “You’re the one with the Christmas decorations all over your house!”

“Is that suddenly a crime?”

“You’re the one who’s been trying to one-up me all month.”

“One-up you…?” Then he seemed to catch on. “ _You_ ’re the one with the sleigh on the roof.”

“The one and only.”

The employee was looking between them, bewildered. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Echolls?” she asked again.

“Uh, hold on a second, I’m sorry,” he told her, then turned his attention back to Veronica. “I’ll let you have this,” he said, tugging on the cars, “if you take away the candy canes and elves.”

“Absolutely not. They cost me a fortune.”

“Well, then, I guess it looks like I’m keeping the cars.”

She tugged on them, hard. “Fine! I’ll take away the candy canes. But not the elves, I don’t want to go back on the roof.”

“The candy canes and the new lights.”

“Only if you turn off the music.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” she repeated.

He let go of the pack of cars and Veronica smiled victoriously.

“Would you happen to have any of those out back, Mrs. Stanley?” the man – Echolls – asked the employee still standing beside them.

“Actually, that may have been my last one. I’m sorry. I can try to order some more, but I can’t guarantee they’ll come before Christmas.”

“It’s okay. Call me when they arrive? It’ll have to be his birthday present instead of Christmas.”

Mrs. Stanley nodded, then walked over to the cash register, not before throwing Veronica a disapproving glance. Rude. How did her neighbour know the toy store employee, anyway?

Veronica followed them to pay for her purchase.

“$34.99,” Mrs. Stanley told Veronica laconically as the man stood on the side with a smirk.

She glared at him while taking out her credit card, and handed it to the older woman.

“Declined.”

“What?” Veronica asked, bewildered. “It can’t be declined. I used it like two hours ago.”

Mrs. Stanley passed the card again, then looked back at Veronica without a word, handing her the card back. Veronica started rifling through her wallet frantically, panicked. After all that bargaining, a declined card couldn’t get her out of getting Noah his perfect gift. It just couldn’t. She started taking out bills, most of them single dollars, and groaned in frustration as she started counting coins to get to the total. She was short at least seven dollars.

“Can you just save it for me? I’ll run to the ATM and take out some cash.”

“No can do. We’re closing.”

Veronica felt panic rising inside of her and tears prickling her eyes. It was ridiculous, she couldn’t cry over something like this. But she could just see little Noah’s face when he realized Santa hadn’t brought him the one gift he wanted most. She started digging in her purse, desperate at this point, to find if some change had slipped out of her wallet for whatever reason. She saw her neighbour take a step towards her from the corner of her eye and she looked up to him handing his card to Mrs. Stanley, wordlessly, not looking at her. Speechless, she watched him punch in his code, watched the lady bag the purchase before handing it to her, her reproachful glance back in full force.

Veronica opened and closed her mouth, before addressing the man still beside her.

“Thank you. I – I’ll pay you back. I can take the elves down.”

He smiled at that. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure? I mean –”

“I don’t want your nephew to be all sad on Christmas morning because of me, or because your card was declined, Veronica.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You think you’re the only one Mrs. Whiskam shares her gossip with?”

“I guess not. Um. Thanks. Seriously.”

“It’s nothing. So, uh, do you think I could interest you in hot chocolate?”

“Don’t you work night shifts?”

He smirked. “Have you memorized my schedule?”

She snorted. “Hardly. Mrs. Whiskam told me.”

“She was right. But, uh, I don’t work tonight.”

“Okay. Then, I guess, sure. But make it eggnog and you’ve got a deal. I’ve had a long week.”

He smiled from ear to ear. “A woman after my own heart.”

“So what are you going to get Dick?” Veronica asked as they made their way out of the store.

“I’ll figure it out. Wii Sports might not be that bad of an idea.”

“It’s actually included with the Wii.”

“Do we have a Wii Sports enthusiast on our hands?”

“My friend Mac has a Wii,” she mumbled. “I may or may not have spent hours with her on it when we were in college.”

“Can’t say I can judge you. I’ve spent several dozen hours playing Halo.”

“Wii Sports at least keeps you active.”

“Healthy video games, what a concept.”

She laughed. “How long ago did you move here?”

“That was a whiplash of a subject change.”

She shrugged.

“Ah, in April.”

“Have you always been a competitive Christmas decorator?”

“No. Just felt like sprucing up the neighbourhood. Most of the houses are so bland.” He smirked. “Then I noticed you were competitive about it, so I got into the game.”

She nodded. “I kind of liked it. Also kind of hated it. My dad thinks I’m mad.”

“Dick told me I was putting way too much effort into it.”

“Noah loves what I did, though. He loves the elves. He likes your house, too, even if he doesn’t say it. He stares when we pass it.”

“Noah?”

“Oh. My nephew.”

“The infamous nephew.”

“Yup. He’ll be really happy when he sees this,” she said, lifting the bag she was holding. “Honestly, thank you. I don’t know why my card was declined.”

“It’s fine. I wish I had a nephew to spoil.”

“He’s not really my nephew,” she confessed. “He’s my best friend’s son. But he calls me Auntie Veronica.”

“I get that. Family doesn’t have to be blood to be family.”

“Yeah. So, hey, what’s your name?”

“Didn’t Mrs. Whiskam tell you?”

“Only your last name.”

“Ah. Logan. My name is Logan.”

“Logan.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a nice name.”

“Thanks?”

She laughed. “So, Logan, eggnog? What kind do you want? I’ll _try_ to make it my treat.”

“There is more than one kind?”

“Duh.”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Wise choice.”

“Hey, Veronica?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m kind of glad your nephew wanted the same cars as Dick.”

She smiled. “Me too.”


	12. Snow and Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is on deployment, and won't be home in time for Christmas.
> 
> The title of this story is taken from the song “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”. It's set in the same universe as Mistletoe (the first story of this collection), one year later, but neither is necessary reading for the other. Post-movie.

“I understand… No, it’s okay. I know you can’t do anything about it. I know it’s not your choice… I love you, too.”

Keith Mars watched his daughter hang up the phone sadly.

“Logan?” he asked her.

She dropped into a chair dejectedly. “Yeah. He says they’ll most likely be another four weeks, maybe five.”

There were 19 days left until Christmas, and Keith knew his daughter had been holding out hope for weeks that her Navy boyfriend would make it home in time for Christmas.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Keith told her, squeezing her hand across his desk.

Veronica tried to shrug, but she couldn’t muster the right amount of nonchalance to make it pass. “I knew there was a chance he’d still be deployed during the holidays. It’s just weird.”

“It’ll be the two of us. We made it work for years. We can do it again this time.”

Veronica smiled. “Yeah. You’ll make baked ham, right? I can make the potatoes.”

She looked giddy again, and it reassured Keith. The day food didn’t cheer up Veronica would be a dark, dark day. Not that she hadn’t had lots of those already, way too many for someone her age, but at least he’d so far always had a few tricks up his sleeve to cheer his baby up.

“Of course. But those potatoes better be crispy or you’re not having any ham.”

“I missed them _one time_!” Veronica exclaimed.

“And you better hope it was your last,” he said with a meaningful look over his nonexistent glasses, which made her giggle.

There she was, his happy child. He had to admit that since she’d been back in Neptune, she had seemed much more like that little girl she’d been before Lilly died and everything went downhill from there. She was an adult, of course, and more jaded, hardened, cynical, than she had been as a child, but she also had moments of not looking over her shoulder, just enjoying what was in front of her. Her perpetually anxious nature had toned down, slightly, and he was grateful for it, regardless of his initial reaction to his daughter coming back to the town that had ruined almost everything in it. Weirdly enough, it hadn’t ruined Logan Echolls, who Keith had found to be a much more composed, responsible person than he ever thought possible. And he made his only child happy, that much Keith could see now, so Logan was back in his good books. He no longer thought that Logan would drag Veronica down in a spiral of destructive behaviour, or leave her broken and bleeding. He’d been looking forward to Christmas with the two of them himself, although that was probably not the best thing to tell Veronica.

“I’ve got the pictures from the Rodricks case,” Veronica said, pulling out a folder from her bag and laying it on her father’s desk. “I think that’s all she’s gonna need for proof for her lawyer. Boom, he didn’t respect the prenup, boom, she doesn’t owe him any of her millions in the divorce.”

Keith opened the folder, letting his daughter change the subject. “Those are good. Did you take them with your new camera?”

“No, Dad, I climbed up the fire escape to be able to take them from their window.”

He raised an eyebrow, because they both knew it sounded like something she’d do, and had done in the past.

“Fine, I see how you could think that. But yeah, it’s the zoom feature of the new camera. Technology is amazing.”

“Now not only can the cheated spouses recognize the faces from our photos, but also the rest of their anatomy!”

“It’s a service to everyone but us, really.”

Keith chuckled. “Thanks, Veronica. I’ll go see her this afternoon.”

“I’ve got something to do for Wallace, I’ll take the afternoon off if you don’t need me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Keith nodded, looking at the door after she was already gone. She seemed to be holding up all right, but knowing Veronica, she’d wait until she was alone to truly let go if she wasn’t feeling at her prime. He sighed, hoping Wallace would keep her distracted for the day.

Veronica’s case for Wallace was more of an errand than anything else. He didn’t trust himself to hide properly the present he’d gotten Shae, who apparently shared a tendency with Veronica to snoop in the apartment she shared with her boyfriend, and had asked Veronica to go get it in his place and keep it until they saw each other again on Christmas Eve.

He’d told her about telling the clerk someone else would be picking up the package for him, and it was a story that enchanted her. She suddenly felt a rush, couldn’t wait to tell Logan about it, hear him laugh, but deflated when she realized it was probably not important enough to be squeezed into their already limited skype time. Still, she’d tell him when he came back, if it wasn’t too much like old news by then. When Wallace had given her name, the clerk had frozen.

“Veronica Mars?” he’d asked, in case he hadn’t hear right.

Wallace had been puzzled. “Yeah. Mars, spelled like the planet. Why, do you know her?”

“She pretty much destroyed my frat during my senior year of college.”

“You were a Pi Sig, class of ’06?” Wallace had asked.

The clerk had nodded, and joked that he wouldn’t need to check her ID when she came in to get the purchase, but Wallace assured her he had looked apprehensive at the thought of having to deal with her, which of course amused him to great lengths. It would probably amuse Logan, too, and even her dad now that the Pi Sigs were no longer of any kind of threat to her, but a part of her did feel a little bit offended that it was somehow her fault in all those boys’ eyes that they’d been shut down for a semester. Shouldn’t the decade separating them from the event grant them some kind of a step back, an assessment of their behaviour? Oh, well. Once a pig, always a pig.

She walked into the empty jewelry store and walked to the counter. After a few seconds, a tall man walked out from the back room and greeted her.

“You must be Veronica Mars.”

“Ah, the Pi Sig.”

He laughed, nervously. “Not for a while, but that is indeed me.”

“You know what they say, once a Pi Sig, always a Pi Sig,” she said with a saccharine smile that did not put him at ease at all. “Or at least, that’s what the one Pi Sig still in my life says. Who knows, really.”

“Some of the brothers still… talk to you?”

She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud.

“Against my will. He’s my boyfriend’s best friend,” she supplied, taking pity on him.

“Ah. Uh, I’ll go get Mr. Fennel’s purchase.”

Veronica nodded and got out her ID, just in case. The man gave it a quick look, for appearances’ sake, when he came back, before handing her the wrapped package. She thanked him and left, all the while wondering what was inside. Wallace had refused to tell her, he said it was a question of principle, that Shae should be the first to know what her Christmas present was. Veronica knew somewhere inside her that he was right, but she didn’t _like_ that he was right. She pondered the idea that maybe it was an engagement ring, making sense with Wallace’s very strong will for Shae not to find out, but not only was it wrapped, which was strange if he was going to pop the question himself, the two of them hadn’t been dating quite long enough for that, in Veronica’s opinion. Wallace would have told her if it had been something so important, right? Right.

In the car, she called her best friend.

“The pigs are in the blanket,” she said without preamble.

“Huh? V, is that you?”

“Who else?”

“You’re right, I don’t know anybody else who wouldn’t even say hi.”

“Hi, Wallace, my dearest best friend of forever.”

“Good afternoon, V, how are you? And what the hell is that about the pigs and the blankets?”

Veronica rolled her eyes even if he couldn’t see her. “The code sentence, Wallace. You know, the one we agreed on? When you told me about this _errand_ I had to run for you? In case a certain someone was in the vicinity and could hear us?”

“Oh, yeah! Thanks, V. Uh, I’m at work right now, so Shae’s not here, no need for code.”

“And how would I know that?”

“Some of us have regular work schedules?”

“Whatever. The pigs are in the blanket, the bread has been acquired, the soda’s popped the can. All that jazz, all done.”

“Always so efficient. Thanks. I’d say I owe you, but it’s actually just one less you owe me.”

“Oh, ha-ha. A few permanent records here and there over the years, at most.”

“Try a few _dozen_. But I’m giving you the friend discount, 3 in 1. Three permanent files for one ‘you owe me.’ Which still gives me a bank of favours until I retire, at least.”

Veronica scoffed. “No way. You don’t have that many left.”

“Well, Veronica, as much fun as it has been to debate with you about who owes who more favours, I’ve got a class to start teaching in a few minutes.”

“Alright, Mr. Regular Work Schedule. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

She had almost reached her apartment by then anyway, and she got parked, then walked into the apartment to go over some files she’d brought home. If Logan had been there, he would have pretended to take a peek at her confidential documents, kissed the top of her head, and settled silently beside her on the couch, as close as possible. It didn’t matter if he was working too, or reading, or watching TV, he always sat right next to her, often with his arm around her, and sometimes she dropped her head to his lap and he played with her hair. Veronica sighed. She missed coming home to him, snuggling against him, hearing the creak of the cupboards when he aimlessly opened and closed them to keep his hands occupied when his mind was elsewhere. She missed having someone ask about her day, wanting to hear about someone’s day. She missed their stupid game of whoever guessed properly at what time the neighbour would get home didn’t have to cook dinner. She missed having Logan with her, seeing him every day, hearing him every day, feeling him every day.

The next time she spoke to him was two days later, during their scheduled skype session. His connection was reasonably good, for once, and she could distinguish all his features, up to the crinkling of his eyes when he smiled at her.

“So, be honest, how many World Wars have you nipped in the bud this week?” Veronica asked as she sat down in front of her laptop, snacks acquired.

“This week? Five. I’m losing efficiency now that we’re nearing 6 months out.”

“Only five? Maybe the Navy isn’t the best, then. I should start looking for a boyfriend in the Marines instead.”

“Technically the Marine Corps is part of the Navy Department, so you’d be trading Navy for Navy. You’re better to stick with me, no point in going through the trouble of starting a relationship all over again.”

“Fine, but you’re on thin ice,” she smiled, and her adoring eyes probably didn’t make her threat look serious at all.

“Hey, are those my Cheez-Its?”

She rolled her eyes. “They were maybe your Cheez-Its three packs ago. I finished those. These are mine. And don’t worry, they’ll be restocked in time for your return, waiting enthusiastically for you to dig into them the days you’re ignoring your diet.”

“Cheez-Its are healthy. As far as those kinds of snacks go.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, buddy. I’ve sure never seen them in the recipe of one of your disgusting green smoothies.”

“If you would just give them a try –”

“Food is meant to have texture!”

“Smoothies have texture.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that, food is meant to have textures,” she repeated, emphasizing the ‘s’ at the end.

“Cheez-Its have texture, singular,” he countered.

“I don’t eat them for a meal, they’re just a snack.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“I sure do, Lieutenant. So,” she asked, putting her empty packet aside, “haven’t suffocated on the smell of months-simmering testosterone yet?”

“If I say yes, does that mean you won’t leave my side when I come back, so I can bring my ambient hormone levels back to normal?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes, I am suffocating. Can barely breathe.”

“I love you,” she whispered with a sad smile.

His eyes went from teasing to soft. “I love you too. How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. I’ve got a lot of cases. Apparently many people want to check on their spouses for Christmas parties, which is just swell, and I’ve also got a missing pet or two. _And_ Mars Investigations now offers the service, reserved to friends, of picking up gifts to be hidden from the missus. So, you know, things are booming.”

Logan laughed. “You’re going to have to explain that last one.”

“Well, it’s complimentary, and only offered to friends. Upon request. Very selective.”

“Wallace sent you to get a gift for Shae in his place?”

“Bingo. He did select and buy it beforehand, I really was just the delivery girl. But he doesn’t think he can find a good enough hiding place in the apartment. He says Shae snoops.”

“I once dated a girl like that. How long ago was it?... Wait.”

Veronica stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

“Oh, about that gift pick up –”

“Veronica, I’m sorry to cut you off, but I’ve only got two more minutes left. You can tell me your story, just maybe abridged?”

Her heart contorted. She’d known she wouldn’t have the time for the little insignificant moments.

“No, it’s fine, it’s not important. I’d rather you tell me about what you’re doing for the remaining time.”

He grimaced. “There’s not much to tell. I’m flying, I’m eating, I’m sleeping, I’m going to briefings, I’m thinking of you. That’s essentially it.”

“So, high school plus the flying part.”

“Oh, there’s something else I was doing quite a bit in high school that would require your presence for it to happen now.”

“Is that so?”

“As if you really doubted. Listen, I’ve gotta go, bobcat, but I’ll talk to you soon. Skype on the 20th, that still works?”

Veronica nodded. “And calls as often as you can.”

“Absolutely. Bye, Veronica.”

“Bye.”

In the nearly two weeks between their face-to-face (screen face to screen face?) conversations, Veronica kept herself busy by getting ready for Christmas, now that she knew waiting for Logan to do it together was pointless. She topped off her festive preparations with the Christmas tree, and she had never been as glad to be interrupted in her decorating as when the jingle signifying Logan was calling escaped from her laptop. She gingerly put down the ornaments she was holding and picked up.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Baby? I don’t hear that one often. You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m always in a good mood with you, _baby_.”

He snorted. “I have about five hundred examples of the contrary that came to me in the past second.”

She huffed. “Fine, you are a horrible presence to have around, and make my mood so much worse.”

He rolled his eyes and then narrowed them at her. “Are you wearing a Santa hat, Mars? I’m away for a few months and all the rules in this apartment get thrown out the window.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “We said no ‘intense Christmas outfits’ unless it was December 22nd or later _or_ if we’re partaking in Christmas activities. Look at that.” She lifted the laptop and gave him a view of the tree in the middle of being decorated, boxes opened around it. “Christmas activities.”

“Fine, fine. So it _doesn’t_ mean I get to pick a rule to toss out, too? Because I was just thinking about that no video games after midnight rule…”

“Nope! Everything is still being 100% respected by this gal.”

“I don’t believe that. Even the rules that could put you in _prison_ if you break them, you enjoy breaking.”

“It’s the thrill of the chase. There’s nothing you can do to me from where you are if I start wearing Christmas slippers out of their authorized yearly rotation.”

“I said okay for the slippers throughout all of December!” he protested.

“And I broke them out on December 1st. I play by the rules. Look at me, all mature.”

“I can see that.”

“What about you, you been respecting your deployment set of rules?”

“I can’t say I remember them. They were fed to me too hastily.”

“Just say they were fed to you while you were naked and you can’t think with your head in those situations.”

“That’s just factor number 2.”

“Rule number one was you’re not supposed to sleep with other people.”

“Wait, hold on, let me think about that one for a sec,” he said, tapping a finger on his lips.

“You’re lucky you’re not here so I can’t smack you.”

“Maybe I’d enjoy being smacked by you.”

“ _Anyway_ , I’m going to assume you respected rule number one, because of the trust in our relationship and whatnot. Rule number two was that you’re not allowed to die.”

“I’m trying hard for that one.”

“Yeah? Keep trying, okay?”

“Of course I’m always trying, Veronica.”

“Good.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Veronica.”

Damn him, why’d he have to know her so well?

“It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, it has. I’m sorry my deployment happened so soon after the previous one. It’s not usually like that. I should be safe for a while after this one.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just…” She sighed and shifted to a more comfortable position. “It’s stupid, but every time I hear a plane or see one in the sky, I have this brief moment of ‘what if it’s Logan?’ and I irrationally think it’s you piloting and whenever I see a taxi I think maybe it’s taking you home from base and you’re going to be back, but you’re not. I shouldn’t tell you this, it’s not your fault, it’s worse for you than it is for me. I just really miss you.”

“Hey, I miss you too. And I’m glad you’re telling me these things. We should be honest with each other. Not being honest has brought us some less than stellar results in the past.”

“That’s one way to put it. We were a disaster.”

“But a good disaster.”

She laughed. “Yeah. A good disaster. You ruined me for everyone else with your doe eyes and fierce protective streak.”

“It’s wrong that that makes me feel good, right?”

“Yes and no? At least you’re admitting it.”

“Just two or three more weeks, Veronica. Then I’ll be home and we can pretend it’s still Christmas. You can wear all your Christmas stuff for the entire leadup to our fake Christmas.”

“The Mars-Echolls Christmas in January? Hey, we should make that a tradition! A second Christmas!”

Logan laughed. “What have I done? We can work out the details when I get there, what do you think?”

“I think it’s great. I can’t wait to see you for our Christmas.”

“Me neither. I’ve still got that 15 minutes slot reserved on the 25th in the afternoon, though. Or should I cancel that since we’ve deemed it not actually Christmas anymore?” he teased her.

She glared. “Don’t you dare cancel that time slot, Logan Echolls.”

“Just making sure,” he smirked. “I’ll see you for Christmas, then.”

“You mean that thing all those other people celebrate at the end of December? Pshh, amateurs.”

“I know, and I wholeheartedly agree, but we have to blend in with the little people, sometimes, my dear. Cultural sensitivity, you know.”

“Since when do _you_ care about blending in?”

“Since _someone_ told me beating someone up doesn’t solve problems. The jury is still out on that one.”

“You say that like I’m the one who ruined you. The Navy ruined you first, I just drove their point home.”

“You ruined me loooong before the Navy got its claws into me.”

“Aw, baby, you flatter me,” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes over her angelic plastic smile.

“Talk to you soon. We’ve got a lot going on the next few days, so I don’t know if I can call you before Christmas. I’ll try if I can.”

“I’ll be there. See you soon.”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

Logan disconnected the call and Veronica stared at her dark screen for a second. He’d be back soon, and he’d promised her a Christmas ornament for the tree this year, so when she got back to her decoration of their tree, she left a spot at the front bare. It irked her that she’d have to look at the incomplete and irregular tree for a few more weeks, but at least it reminded her that Logan was coming back, soon enough.

Logan walked through the halls with more confidence than he felt. There were three days left until Christmas, and the atmosphere on the ship was starting to be heavy with everyone missing their families, sad not to be with them to celebrate. Even him, with the knowledge that he and Veronica were having a do-over January Christmas, felt that sting of longing, the guilt of having chosen a profession that kept him from his loved ones. He imagined it was worse for those with kids, who didn’t get to see their faces on Christmas morning, who in general must miss their children more than anything. Or maybe also just anyone with more family than an estranged sister, a girlfriend, and whatever Dick was supposed to be.

He walked into the already crowded room and weaved his way into the room beside Riley.

“Think we’re getting a Christmas bonus to compensate for our extra hours lately?”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Riley said, shaking his head. “The past week _has_ been intense though. Thought it was just me.”

“Nah, I’m exhausted. So, unless we’re _both_ pregnant, they’re definitely cranking up the intensity.”

“Well, gotta scrunch in those numbers before the new year.”

They both fell into silence after that, straightening up as the door was closed and their superior took to the front of the room.

He started with small introduction – they’d all been working hard, he knew they’d been away from their loved ones a long time, their work to get them to the end of the year was very valuable – all of which Logan could have recited for all the variations of it he’d heard through the years. It was a good thing the armed forces had driven out of him the need to disrespect rules, because he would have been sharing sarcastic comments with Riley the whole time if they hadn’t.

“So, boys… Looks like we’ll be ready to reach San Diego tomorrow, and then you’re all free to go the next day.”

Wait, what? Logan couldn’t have heard that right. Based on the looks others around him were exchanging, though, he was pretty sure they’d all heard the same thing.

“Sir, hadn’t we said two more weeks?” someone piped up and Logan had to commend the guy’s bravery for not only speaking out of turn, which wasn’t actually all that big a deal with Lieutenant Commander James, but also for risking incurring the wrath of the other men in the room was anyone to change their minds over his intervention. Logan bet that guy used to be the one kid in class who reminded the teacher to set homework.

“Plans change, Lieutenant Matthews.”

Logan held back the urge to snicker. Someone clearly didn’t want to be home for Christmas. To be fair, if Christmas had meant spending it with his mom and Aaron, he probably wouldn’t have been ecstatic, either. But the case was that his family was now Veronica – he still had to work out really if he was also her family, but he knew for sure that she was his – and he was just as giddy as (most of) the others in the room to be reunited with her just in time for the festivities.

They were quickly dismissed and warned that the next two days wouldn’t be for lounging around, that serious work had to be done, but there was no breaking the spirit of contentment that had now replaced the morose ambiance of the previous days.

Several of the families, friends, girlfriends and boyfriends, wives and husbands, were waiting for them all when they got to base in the early afternoon on Christmas Eve. Riley’s wife was on him after about half a second and he spun her around.

“Veronica not coming?” he asked Logan when the short blonde hadn’t materialized at his side like expected.

“I didn’t tell her. I’m surprising her.”

“You’re a strange man, Mouth.”

“Eh, what can you do? Gotta keep my girl on her toes, she thrives on adrenaline.”

“You were saying she’s, what, a cop?”

“Certainly not, the Neptune PD is a joke. She’s a P.I.”

“I’m starting to see why the two of you work together.”

“We’re both curious?”

“You’re both… original.”

Logan laughed. “I guess you could say that.”

Everyone went on their merry ways and Logan decided to call Wallace on his way to Neptune.

“Hey, Wallace, man, what’s up?”

“Logan? Are you using your calling time to call _me_?”

“I’m actually back on solid ground. You absolutely cannot tell Veronica. Do you know what plans she has for tonight?”

“She’s going to her dad’s. Around 5, I think?”

“Is she spending the night there?”

“I don’t know, don’t think so.”

“Thanks, Wallace.”

And so Logan could set his last-minute plan in motion. He dropped by Dick’s house to pick up the gifts for Veronica he’d all had delivered there, and to have a beer with his friend, upon Dick’s insistence. He had time to kill before Veronica was out of the apartment anyway, and he couldn’t refuse Dick that time together after months apart.

He carefully opened the door to the apartment at 5:20, just to be sure Veronica was gone, and quietly padded through the dark. After having checked every room, he returned to the living room and turned the lights on, satisfied. He took in all the decorations she’d put up – truly a marvel how his cynic of a girlfriend could go all out for the holidays – and smiled when he noticed the hole she’d left in the tree for her promised return-from-deployment ornament.

He spent the next hour prepping everything: fake snow on the steps, a present under the tree and the others scattered around the apartment, hidden with varying degrees of success, and of course the one beribboned snowman ornament he had found 3 months previously during a stop in Alaska. Nothing on it could betray where it was from, so he wouldn’t be selling away any secrets, but a part of him was sure that Veronica would find a way to figure it out anyway.

A few minutes after 8, he got the text he was waiting for, so he turned off the regular lights, leaving only the tree and fairy lights turned on, then retreated down the hall, making sure the front door was locked.

Veronica felt her phone ringing, and looked down at the caller ID. Wallace. Had she done something to Shae’s present? Maybe she’d picked up the wrong item after all. She made an apologetic face at her father and picked up.

“Wallace, hey, what’s up?”

“I was just driving by your place, and there’s something weird going on.”

“Something weird? What do you mean?”

“On your steps, I can’t really tell, but you should probably come check it out.”

“Like a break in? But I locked the door!”

“Maybe I’m wrong and your neighbour was just drunk and did something on your landing, I don’t know. Just thought I’d let you know.”

“Yeah, thanks for letting me know, Wallace. I’ll be right over.”

“I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

“It’s alright, I’m not far away. Dad and I are coming.”

She hung up, frowning. Her father looked at her questioningly.

“Someone broke into your apartment?”

“I don’t know. Wallace said something looked weird. I was going to go check it out, but then I thought you’d want to come, for backup or whatever.”

“I’ll take it. You may not agree with needing backup yet, but indulging other people’s want for you to be safe is a nice first step.”

“Only took me a decade.”

Keith snorted, shrugging on his jacket.

They arrived at her apartment a few minutes later. Veronica parked her car and could instantly see what Wallace had been talking about. First of all, it looked from the distance like someone had spilled something on her front steps. Then, as she walked closer, she noticed through the curtains on her window that there seemed to be a light inside. She was certain she’d turned everything off before leaving in the late afternoon. She turned to her father, a few steps behind her, and that was when she noticed that what she’d taken for a spill looked like… snow? She reached down to touch it, and it wasn’t even remotely cold. But the fluffiness, the airiness, the colour of it made it look like a fresh thin layer of snow like she’d dreamed of waking up to on Christmas morning as a kid.

Even more confused than before, she carefully made her way to the door and tried the handle. It was locked, which should have reassured her, but then that meant _she_ had been the one to leave the lights on, which she absolutely did not remember doing. She jiggled her key in the lock and took a cautious step inside. The lights were indeed on, but just the Christmas ones, giving everything a cozy and festive atmosphere. As her gaze swept the room, her eyes landed on her illuminated Christmas tree and the spot that had been bare for days on purpose and was now resolutely occupied by a snowman ornament she knew she hadn’t seen before.

“Surprise?” she heard a low whisper behind her as hands snaked around her hips.

She whipped her head around. “Logan!” she cried and muffled his smirk with a kiss.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

“You’re home.”

“I am.”

“For Christmas.”

“Just so.”

She just looked at him, mouth agape, like she was still wrapping her head around his presence. He ducked his head down to kiss her neck and a small giggle escaped her. She took his face in both of her hands.

“I don’t have the Cheez-Its yet.”

He laughed. “ _That_ ’s what you think of when I come home two weeks early?”

“No, there were other thoughts before, but,” she jerked her head towards the door, “my dad is right there.”

Logan turned his head in the direction she’d indicated. He’d of course noticed Keith’s presence when he’d crept up behind Veronica, but hadn’t taken the time to acknowledge it. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Mars.”

“Merry Christmas, Logan. It’s good to see you.”

Logan shuffled towards Keith, still holding Veronica, and extended his hand towards the older man. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your father-daughter time too early.”

“You didn’t, it was Wallace – wait,” Veronica said, her eyes widening slowly as she looked back up at Logan. “ _You_ made Wallace freak me out about an intruder in our apartment!”

“I just said to find something that would get you back here without raising your suspicions about me being back. He chose the angle.”

“Since when do you conspire with Wallace?”

“We’ve been co-conspirators for about…” he pretended to think, “I don’t know, 5 hours?”

“Sneaky.”

“You’re not easy to sneak around.”

“Which is why it’s all the more impressive.”

“Yeah, well, I’m an impressive guy.”

She reached up and kissed him again, her arms still around him. “That you are.”

“I think I’ll leave you two kids alone,” Keith piped up.

“No, no, you can stay, Mr. Mars. If you don’t mind relocating here.”

“Dad, you can’t go home anyway, you came here in my car.”

“Drive me home?” Keith suggested.

“If you prefer doing that, okay,” Veronica agreed and slipped out of Logan’s embrace.

“I’m coming with you,” he said, and Veronica turned back to smile at him.

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“But I want to.”

When Keith was back at his home and had insisted that Logan and Veronica didn’t have to stay longer just to keep him company, Logan slipped in the passenger’s seat and spent the entire car ride back home drawing figures with his thumb on the back of Veronica’s outstretched hand. She glanced at him occasionally, keeping her other hand firmly on the wheel, but didn’t dare take her hand back. If Logan wanted to touch her at all times, there was no way she was saying no to that after months without him.

As they made their way back to the apartment, Logan pulled her all the way close to him, and she almost tripped as they were walking up the stairs, making them both laugh.

“You got me snow for Christmas,” she noted as she dug her key out of her bag, smiling up at him.

Logan shrugged. “Last year we said we’d go somewhere with snow for the holidays, for that white Christmas you’ve always wanted. But because of my deployment, we couldn’t, so I brought the closest thing to snow to you instead.”

She ran a finger down his cheek and he closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

He caught her fingers and brought them to his lips. “Anything for you, bobcat.”

“Did you know this whole time you were coming back early?”

“I learned it two days ago and I thought, what the hell, might as well surprise you.”

“It wasn’t too shabby, as far as surprises go.”

“Yeah? Do you think we can go inside so you can take that sweater off?”

His hand had been ghosting the hem of said sweater for several minutes, fingers hooking into her belt loops or teasing the skin right above her waistband. She raised her eyebrows suggestively and pushed the door open, then wiggled out of his grasp to pull the sweater off a good distance from him.

“ _So_. Now that I’ve been rid of this sweater, I want to get a better look at that ornament.”

His mouth fell open, watching her, wearing nothing over her bra, as she walked to the tree and touched the snowman with the tip of her finger.

“Where is it from?” she asked.

He walked up to her and wrapped her in his arms again, so she leaned back into his chest.

“You know I can’t tell.”

“If I guess correctly, will you tell me?”

He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “No.”

She pouted. “Do you think it’s possible I’ll guess?”

“I don’t think there is a single clue that could point you in the right direction, _but_ ,” he emphasized with another kiss, this time along her collarbone, “you’re Veronica Mars. You can guess anything.”

“You’re feeling compliment-y today.”

“I only say what’s true.”

“Mhm-hmm,” she nodded, closing her eyes and snuggling into his neck.

“For example, I wouldn’t praise the accuracy of your English vocabulary right now.”

“I have a great vocabulary.”

He kissed her cheek. “But you have other qualities that are more worthy of mention.”

“Like what?”

“You’re certainly insistent.”

“Hey!”

“And I love you for it,” he murmured, dropping yet another kiss on her face.

“Can I open my present?” she asked, opening her eyes, hoping he couldn’t resist the puppy dog eyes she’d mastered over the years.

“That one at the bottom of the tree? Yes you can, snookums.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You said yes way too fast.” And added a nonsense pet name. Something was up.

“Maybe I’m just happy to indulge my beautiful girlfriend after having been apart from her for so long.”

She harrumphed, still suspicious, but too excited at the idea of a present before Christmas morning to push it further. They moved to sit on the couch as she picked up the box and lifted the lid, setting it on the coffee table. She looked at Logan questioningly, and he motioned for her to go on as she pulled a second box from inside the first.

After four boxes, Logan was having trouble holding back his laughter at Veronica’s increasingly deadly looks when she opened a box.

“Lo-gan!” she drew out when she reached the sixth. He’d been very careful with the measurements, and each box was an almost perfect fit of the previous one.

“I thought you liked following a trail of clues. Is your curiosity driving you crazy?” he teased.

“You wish.”

“Depends how crazy we’re talking. Crazy enough to get you to remove the rest of your clothes as well? Then yes, I do wish.”

“If there’s an end to this someday, then I just might get around to that.”

“Keep going, then.”

It took a staggering eleven boxes to get to the final one. Veronica pulled out a folded paper from the box and opened it in front of her. Her mouth dropped open.

“’I thought we said presents were for Christmas morning, bobcat?’,” she read. “Logan!”

“Are you not happy with your present?” he asked, a diabolical smile on his face as he pulled her onto his lap and tickled her sides.

“That smiley face at the end is taunting me!” she moaned in between laughs, throwing her head back on his shoulder.

“I thought it was cute.”

“You’re cute. That,” she said, pointing at the paper she’d dropped on the coffee table, “is not.”

“It was a great idea, you have to admit.”

“No,” she pouted, but then she turned her face and kissed his neck.

“So you’ll wait until tomorrow, now?”

“I have to, don’t I?”

“I don’t know of anyone ever being able to make you do something against your will,” Logan replied, running his hand up and down her back.

Veronica shivered and snuggled closer to Logan.

“Cold?” he asked, warm hands still trailing her skin.

“Nothing a bit of skin-on-skin contact can’t fix.”

They both moved at the same time, their lips finding each other in the middle, exploring properly for the first time in way too long.

“I missed you,” Veronica breathed against his lips.

“God, Veronica, I missed you so much.”

In between kisses, something caught Veronica’s eye in the kitchen, behind Logan.

“Hey, what’s that?”

“Huh?” Logan asked, still in a Veronica-induced haze.

She shifted to get a better look and he pressed a kiss on the collarbone now situated directly in front of his mouth. “Am I getting one-upped by a Christmas present again?”

“It’s a Christmas present?”

Logan rolled his eyes and lifted her off him to turn around.

“That?” he pointed, and she nodded. “Yes, I believe that’s a Christmas present.” He tugged her down and she stumbled on him as he settled back down. “I _also_ believe we said that’s for tomorrow.”

“But why is there a Christmas present in the kitchen?”

“To make your Christmas morning interesting.”

“And how were you planning on making my Christmas _Eve_ interesting?”

“That was purely my presence.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s not too bad.”

“Not too bad? I guess I haven’t been doing my job properly, then.”

She shrieked as he lowered her into a leaning position on the couch, but it turned into a contented sigh when his lips found their way to her stomach, lightly skimming along her soft skin. She pulled on his hair, pulling him up to her, he carefully followed so as not to put all his weigh on her, and complied, capturing her lips with his own, as she mumbled something about them needing to relocate the mistletoe she’d hung a few days earlier above the couch for more comfort.

“Hey, Logan?” Veronica whispered in the dark before either of them drifted off to sleep.

“Yes?”

“Are we still doing Christmas in January?”

“Yeah, why not?”

She rolled over in the bed to face him and ran a hand up his chiseled chest with gusto before focusing on his face. He smirked as he noticed.

“Shut up,” she muttered, and he laughed. “It’s just that you made _this_ Christmas special, so I have another chance next time.”

He stroked her cheek. “You put in all the work last year. And I barely did anything, I just came back home.”

“Exactly, how am I ever going to top how happy it made me when you came back?”

“Are you being sentimental, Miss Mars?”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I think I’ve finally gotten to the romantic and mushy part of you.”

“Hey, you lick a lollipop, at one point you’ll get to the centre.”

“Was that really all it took? I would’ve done more of that earlier if I’d known.”

She scoffed. “Like you ever needed more incentive.”

“You’ve never complained.”

“Definitely not,” she smirked.

“Now am I allowed to go to sleep?”

She scooted even closer and draped her arms around him. “Yes. Hey, hold on.”

She’d felt something under her pillow as she moved, so she lifted it and discovered a small package. She looked up at Logan, who simply raised an eyebrow, challenging. She extended her arm to place it on the bedside table.

“I will save this for tomorrow morning.”

“You’re not curious?”

“I’m sticking to my promise.”

“You were more curious about the gift you picked up for Shae than this one.”

“Do you _want_ me to open it?”

“No, no, just noticing.”

“Shae’s gift was a necklace. I asked Wallace when I dropped it off earlier, and he laughed at me.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Stop confusing me!” she exclaimed, hitting him with the pillow she was still holding with one hand.

“Sorry, sorry. Good night, my love.”

“I’m letting you get away with ‘my love’ for once because it’s Christmas and you just came back, but don’t push your luck.”

She snuggled close to him and he rested his chin on the top of her head. “Good night,” Logan whispered.

“Good night.”

After a few minutes, Veronica whispered, “Since it’s after midnight, does it count as Christmas morning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following along these small stories all month! I've loved all the lovely comments and I truly appreciate that some of you liked the little stories I cooked up!  
> Merry Christmas!


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